Friend Close, Enemy Closer
by Amymimi
Summary: Will's heart is in danger, a pregnant Elizabeth falls ill, Jack bonds with Elizabeth and his daughter—and Cutler Beckett, having before cheated certain death, finds himself in the perfect situation for redemption. Post-AWE. PLEASE review! Finally completed!
1. Of Cutlery and Chests

**Friend Close, Enemy Closer**

Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise or any of its characters, nor am I making any profit by publishing this story.

A/N: So, the third story is well underway! I hope that you are intrigued enough by the summary description to read further!

It is highly recommended that you have read my stories Beckett's Debt and A Touch of Destiny before beginning this one, because there are elements tied in to the other stories. I will not reveal any massive plot points, but Beckabeth fans may enjoy this story. I won't be able to update daily, being as the chapters are all still very much in-progress. However, each chapter will be quite lengthy, so hopefully that helps out a bit. Alright, here goes:

* * *

**Chapter 1: Of Cutlery and Chests…**

The first hurricane that had occurred in the Caribbean since the liberation of Calypso from her human form had devastated the entire region; uprooting palm trees, flattening settlements, and washing ashore the remnants of long-forgotten shipwrecks and their rotting, paint-stripped wooden carcasses. Even the remains of the doomed _Endeavour_ had been washed ashore, onto a small uninhabited island near the anticlimactic battle that had committed her to the depths.

Almost all of the Caribbean islands had suffered moderate to extensive damage at the hands of _Hurricane Calypso_ – or so the remaining pirates of the brethren, in their hesitancy to leave the Caribbean, preferred to call it. It was treacherous to sail amidst the islands, being as ancient shipwrecks had surfaced in harbours and along shorelines, slicing gaping holes into the keels of docking ships. Even with these conditions, a small ship of the Royal Navy had managed to drift in close enough to an island that held interest to them. A tattered though not yet faded ensign of the East India Trading Company hung as a sort of proclamation in a dense cluster of mangled palm trees along the shoreline of this small uncharted island.

A skinny boy held up a dark rectangular object he had pulled out of the sand by a faintly sparkling handle. Nearby, a tall man bedecked in the garb of a lieutenant of the Royal Navy was carrying the tattered remains of the EITC ensign under one arm. As the sunlight glinted off the handle of the item, he couldn't help but notice the boy's curious discovery.

"Is there anything in it?" the man shouted to the boy, approaching him with long fast strides in an attempt to prevent his polished black leather knee-high boots from sinking into the wet sand.

"Maybe somethin' soft, I think," the boy said, shaking around the small ornate chest in his outstretched arms, hearing a squishy thump as whatever was inside thudded against the inside of the box. The chest was made of cold metal and was a bit slimy in his grip, so there was no way he'd be bringing it any closer to his body to listen any closer.

"Rattle it around a bit, Longfellow! But don't drop it!"

"I'm tryin', I'm tryin'!" the puny cabin boy whined, his stick-thin arms gripping the miniature chest with all the strength he could muster. Certainly Peter Longfellow, the son of a long line of high-ranking British Army officers, had made a mistake in running away from home and stowing away aboard a ship of the Royal Navy. He had become no more than a slave.

"Here, let me see that, boy," Lieutenant Thomas Morgan said as he stepped over weathered boards and sandy sinkholes, snatching the chest out of Peter's hands. The tall white-bewigged man held the small box at eye-level, immediately aware of a heart/crab shape surrounding what looked to be a keyhole consisting of two distinct slots. The remainder of the chest had elaborate tentacle designs on every rectangular concave panel, and rivets running in patterns along the strips of metal along the edges and convexities.

"Odd," he muttered, bringing the chest closer towards his face.

"What is it?" Peter asked him, crossing his pale freckled arms as he squinted into the sun to watch the lieutenant bringing his face so close to the chest. He noticed that the mass of splintered wood washed ashore from the wreck of the _Endeavour_ made it difficult to spot the longboat they had pulled into the shallows.

"I think this is the…" Morgan had trailed off, now holding the chest to his ear. Peter refrained from watching the longboat shift with the tide, instead seeing the Lieutenant's face go pale, his expression one of sheer fright. Never had he seen the epitome of courage, manliness, and blatant disregard for danger –the square-jawed Lieutenant Morgan— show such unabashed fear.

"What's wrong, Sir; what is it?"

Morgan began to babble quietly yet unintelligibly, putting the chest to his ear once again. As the lieutenant stood frozen in amazement, the boy stood on tiptoes and placed his ear upon the chest. The blood drained from Peter's face as he lowered his trembling body onto the entirety of his feet once again. There was no denying it: therein the chest sounded the unmistakable rhythmic thumping of a beating heart. He had found the Dead Man's Chest.

* * *

Five weeks had gone by since the discovery of the Dead Man's Chest on the uninhabited island now unofficially dubbed the "Dead Man's Endeavour." If it hadn't been for the wreck of the _Endeavour _and its large recognizable ensign strung up so obviously in the trees, the chest would never have been found. Already the chest and its unattainable contents were on their way to England aboard the _Navigator_, the small ship of the Royal Navy that had drifted offshore as the discovery had been made, with the proud and handsome Lieutenant Morgan keeping the ornate chest near him at all times. _With this discovery, it will not be long until I am made admiral and I can command a respectable ship_, he mused.

_Hurricane Calypso_, having occurred during the _Black Pearl_'s stay in Greenland, was of no past or present concern to her crew, who were now sailing due east from the Azores Islands. The _Pearl_ had some unexpected guests at this point in her journey for the Canary Islands, including the much-maligned Cutler Beckett, who was supposed to have been traded for a hefty reward in the Azores, and Captain Jack Sparrow's daughter Joana.

Jack Sparrow was not the type of man to ask for help, or to admit to being completely out of his element. Especially not to a person he had mixed feelings about, a person who openly fraternized with the enemy. The person being, of course, Elizabeth Turner. Yet here he was, stealing away from the presence of his long-lost daughter Joana for a quick visit to see the former Miss Swann, to where she had previously disappeared below deck on the _Black Pearl_. Coincidentally to where the former Lord Cutler Beckett, his newly renewed old-time foe, had also disappeared.

Jack kept his usual swagger to a minimum as he descended the stairs to the gun deck of the _Pearl_, hoping in his silence—yet dreading— to catch Beckett doing some dastardly deed. Dread, of course, only being based on physical contact of Beckett with the _other_ woman aboard the ship. It was highly probable that the two were fooling around, being as they hadn't even waited for the _Pearl_ to be properly moored before running off on their own onto Pico Island, where the crew of the _Pearl_ had planned to stock up on supplies. Even so, whatever the dastardly deed he'd find Beckett doing; it would immediately result in his ship being emptied of all trace of the former lord. Whether or not Elizabeth agreed to this action.

Once Jack had reached the gun deck, he could hear murmurings coming from the direction of the brig. He stopped where he was, grabbing the beaded dreadlocks hanging about his ears to make out what was being said.

"I was named after my mother's mother," he heard Elizabeth say, in the midst of a conversation with Cutler Beckett. "Or my _maternal grandmother_, you might say."

Elizabeth and Beckett were standing in the brig, having become involved in a conversation about names, being as Cutler had now implored Elizabeth to call him by the name _Cutler_, rather than _Beckett_. The former lord had hoped that his request would lead the conversation with Elizabeth in a different direction, but was prepared to participate in this inane chatter if it could possibly lead to the type of conversation he'd _prefer_ to have with Elizabeth.

"Yes, the latter is certainly the proper description for that particular relative," Cutler replied, grinning impishly. "_Mother's mother_ sounds like the name of a ship captained by fools—better known as pirates, of course."

"No need to be snobbish," was the reply from an exasperated Elizabeth. "Well, what about you… _Cutler_."

The way she had stated his name was slightly mocking, said with a joking tone rather than a nasty tone. Even so, Beckett didn't appreciate it.

"I think you just made my name sound like the most distasteful thing in the world. Thank you very much."

Elizabeth chuckled, giving him a little slap to the shoulder. _Intriguing_, he mused. _Where will this lead_?

"I didn't mean for it to come out like that, silly. But really, what _is_ the basis for your—"

"Well, _I'm_ rather hurt. I've never made fun of _your_ name, you know," he said with a little pout. "Elizabeth _Turner_. Now, Swann: that was a rather nice surname. Graceful… just rolls off the tip of the tongue—but Turner—what is a Turner, exactly? One who Turns?"

"What's a Cutler? One who partakes in the business of cutlery?"

At hearing her definition, which was indeed a very likely description for his name, he froze in place, mouth opening ever so slightly. His ever-present arrogance regarding everything he was, everything he stood for, had never actually allowed him to make that sort of connection. It was rather depressing, and fouled his decently-jovial mood.

"I hope to God you're wrong about that. But I must admit; you are smarter than you look."

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue.

"I resent that."

"Now you know how _I_ feel when you mock the name bestowed upon me by my parents. My poor mother, may she rest in peace."

"My poor mother _and_ father, may they rest in peace," Elizabeth replied bitterly. With that, she had traversed on dangerous ground. And especially dangerous ground for Beckett.

He made a _tsk_ing sound, shaking his head in disapproval.

"No need to bring in the big guns, Elizabeth. I was not the one to poke fun at your _given_ name. Just your married name to William Turner, may _he_ rest in peace—"

"He's not dead!"

"Well, what do you call it then. He is forced to remain aboard the _Dutchman_ for ten years shuttling between worlds, unable to traverse onto solid ground naught but once a decade. He is cursed to do so for all eternity…until someone takes his place, and then he will be in actuality totally deceased—"

"Stop it!"

"Only because you know it to be true—"

It was then that Jack heard the sound, and almost stumbled. The whole ship had probably heard the resounding slap Elizabeth had laid across Beckett's face.

Jack listened intently to hear only a very awkward silence following the sound of flesh striking flesh. He decided to wait until the pair began speaking again to barge in and pull Elizabeth aside. And attach Beckett to the anchor. Though it seemed as though Elizabeth was well on her way to doing so to Beckett on her own. At least, by the sound of that rather forceful slap.

Jack immediately reckoned that that particular slap may have even dwarfed Luiza's slaps to his own face, back in the day. Immediately he shook his head, disgusted that the thought of her had even occurred to him. Only his desperation of escaping his pursuing groups with fresh supplies caused his thoughts to wander back to that point in time. He had loved many a woman over the years, and Luiza was no more important than the others. Of course, she _had_ been, for the time being, but, well—out of sight, out of mind. Most certainly Jack had other fatherless children out there.

"Never will I return to where I have spread my seed," he murmured aloud to himself. He then frowned.

"Bugger—wot does that leave me, then," he muttered bitterly, holding his fingers in front of him in preparation to think of _literally_ fruitless destinations.

* * *

Cutler had shut his eyes lightly during and directly after the slap. He raised a hand to his face slowly to rub the stinging skin of his cheek.

"I don't want to ever hear you mention Will again, understand?!" Elizabeth half-shrieked at him, watching his anticlimactic response to the hard-hitting slap. Truth to tell, the palm of her hand was still stinging.

Cutler opened his eyes languidly, rubbing the struck cheek ever so slowly as he established eye contact with Elizabeth. He knew that it would surely be much easier for Elizabeth to forget her lost husband if he was never mentioned again. It would only be to his advantage to stop bringing up Elizabeth's reason for not taking things a bit further with him.

"I understand," he muttered under his breath, not even flashing her a glare of spite or arrogance to go along with his reply. He did not wish to be slapped again. Needless to say, Elizabeth was a bit startled by his immediately conceding to her wishes, but didn't want to push it any further and so let the issue fall.

There was a silence that followed. Now was the time. Jack moved forwards in the darkness of the gun deck to the ladder.

Suddenly Elizabeth changed her mind about letting things go, for she just couldn't be like Beckett in his ability to let things go. She yelled in anger, quickly barking out her thoughts on the situation.

"You can't just assume you can say anything to me now! How _dare_ you think things have changed merely because of what happened earli—"

Upon hearing Elizabeth begin to shout rather unexpectedly, the formerly quietly traipsing Jack tumbled down the stairs to the brig in a state of shock over the loud unexpected exclamation, causing Elizabeth to stop speaking immediately.

The pirate captain landed on the floor on his back, hat knocked off to the side, his face several shades lighter than usual, in stark contrast to the kohl that lined his now widened eyes.

In his pitiful state now on the floor of the brig, Jack found Beckett and Elizabeth standing across from each other, Elizabeth's arms crossed, Beckett's hand shooting from where it had been rubbing his cheek down to his side at the sight of Jack's entering the brig. Truth to tell, a rather significant wave of relief washed over Jack at the sight of the pair standing about arm's length apart, not touching each other in any way. What _had_ Elizabeth been going on about? He wished he had heard more of it, but much of what she had said was missed in his tumbling down the stairs. Jack rose to his feet rather woozily, snatching his hat off the floor in the process.

"Lizzie, I need to talk wiv you," Jack said to her, his expression grave and insistent, as he placed his hat upon his dreadlocked head. He gave Beckett a spiteful glare. "Elsewhere."

Elizabeth followed Jack wordlessly back up the ladder to the gun deck, then to the empty forecastle, being as the crew were all still above deck hastening the _Pearl_'s exit from the region of the Azores. _Oh, God. He knows. He's probably going to tell me to get off the ship. I don't really blame him, but I do not wish to leave. I'll just explain to him why I went ashore with Beckett. I can tell him that I went to the doctor to confirm that I'm with child. And then things can go on being as they were…._

Once the pair had reached the forecastle, Jack turned and opened his mouth to speak. Elizabeth beat him to it.

"Jack—if this is about earlier—"

He narrowed his eyes, not expecting her to speak in such a way.

"Wot?" he uttered, crinkling up his nose.

The blood rushed to her face. He seemed to be caught off-guard at her insistence on explaining. Was that not what he was planning on talking to her about?

"Never mind," she murmured, feeling rather sheepish, "you go first."

"No," he replied, much to her dismay. "Wot_ about_ earlier?" His curiosity was roused at the thought of her implication of guilt in the way she had gone on the defensive almost immediately upon being alone with him. Perhaps between his tumblings down the stairs that subject was what she had been yelling at Beckett about. What _had_ occurred between the two of them?

* * *

Sighing deeply, Joana Sparrow leaned against the gunwale on the main deck, watching the crew work their expertise on the sails and rigging of the ship. All these people around her—and yet she felt more alone than ever. Oh, the _years_ of her life she had spent waiting for her father to return. Instead, he had returned only because he had supposed no one would think to find him there. And he hadn't even known that she was his daughter, spending all those years gallivanting all over the globe in his ship with naught but a care in the world.

The question then occurred to her as to why her father's ship had fired upon his former coworkers. Obviously Jack and his crew were not uniformed men—rather scroungy and tattered, in fact, but what were they, exactly? She frowned, pondering over the question.

"Is there somethin' wrong, Miss? 'Cause ye look t' be troubled," the friendly voice of Gibbs said to her.

The cordial older pirate was now standing beside her, leaning his brawny arms on the rail of the gunwale.

"I think I'm just lonely," she mumbled, watching the retreating form of her homeland in the horizon. "But I must ask—what kind of company is this? Surely not Royal Navy or East India Trading Company—"

"We are, in fact, pirates," Gibbs replied matter-of-factly. "Outlaws, ye might call us. Which is precisely why we had t' make a hasty retreat when all the lawmen arrived, if ye recall."

Could it be that this Jack wasn't her actual father? Panic rose in her throat. Had she voluntarily gotten herself stuck on a ship with outlaws, as well as complete strangers to boot? Her father had been a midshipman of the British Royal Navy, a clean-shaven man with wavy dark hair tied back in a neat tail at his nape, with far lighter skin than this darkly tanned, dreadlocked, kohl-eyed, bearded pirate captain. At least, the former was how her mother had drawn him on the now _shreds_ of parchment that Joana always kept tucked safely on her person. A rather handsome man, her father had been. She just had to glance at the drawing again, to reassure herself of her father's appearance as it related to the swaggering playboy pirate captain's. Mayhap this Gibbs fellow could confirm….

Gibbs watched the girl with interest as she reached into a pocket, fumbling with some papery object she had in her hand. She unfolded it, holding it for him to see, yet not making eye contact with him for fear that she'd have been wrong all along in her assumption that this Jack Sparrow was her father. It was Beckett that had confirmed the supposed relation. It was essentially his fault that she was now on this ship…. If Captain Sparrow wasn't her father, Beckett would certainly pay….

"Ahh," she heard Gibbs utter, at the sight of the sketch. "'Tis Cap'n Jack, alright, in 'is law-abidin'youth. Looks a good bit different now, eh? Seems the more infamous he gets, the less proper gentleman he looks to be."

She closed her eyes for a split second, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Gibbs noticed her relief.

"Didje not believe Jack t' be yer father? E'en if ye hadn't had that sketch fer ye t' confirm it with me, it's plain as day to me that he is."

"Why is that?"

"Ye've got his eyes. The colour, shape… identical. Didn' think it was possible for two people to share eyes an' still both be seein', but it is."

Joana flashed him a slight smile, but it faded as soon as it had appeared. This alarmed Gibbs.

"Wha's wrong?"

"I wait my whole life to meet my father. Now I am here, and he does not care."

"Eh, don' ye worry, Miss. He prob'ly ne'er expected this sort o' thing, an' may be feelin' a bit lost. Jus' gotta get used to it, is all."

"Where is he?"

"He traversed below deck to have a word with Mrs. Turner."

"Mrs. Turner?" The confusion in Joana's eyes was obvious.

"Elizabeth. The lady who was on land with ye, Beckett, an' Jack."

"I did not meet Mr. Turner," she replied. _But she said she was with Beckett's child… obviously, because they then proceeded to kiss for a rather long time afterwards. _

"That's because he's not exactly o' this world anymore."

"He's dead?" _Well, maybe it does make sense that she is now with another man.._.

"Ehh…. Well, that be a rather long story. Best ye ask Jack how that whole rigmarole works."

Joana felt a bit irritated. _So not only is Elizabeth a widow so early in life, she's with another man's child, and in addition to this, she is holding the interest of my father, thus most likely keeping me from ever knowing him very well. I think I already hate her._

"Do you have an interest in her?" Joana suddenly asked Gibbs, whose eyes went wide with surprise. He began to chuckle nervously in response.

"An' what would give ye an idea like that?"

"Well, Beckett… my father… her husband… all are. Why not everyone else?" She held her breath, waiting for the confirmation or denial of her father as being interested in Elizabeth.

"Well, that don' apply to me. True that she be well-rounded an' easy on the eyes, but I've no interest in girls young enough t' be me own daughter. I've some sort o' standard, though I be jus' as pirate as the rest o' the crew, if ye be thinkin' I've gone soft."

Joana waited a few more seconds, for Gibbs to hopefully disclaim Jack as being interested in Elizabeth. When he said no more, she felt a sorrow crash over her.

"I wish that you were my father," she blurted, her eyes looking a bit glassy, most likely with tears.

"Don' say that; ye don' mean to say things like that," Gibbs whispered back quickly, his eyes darting about nervously as he gave her a quick pat to the back. "Jack be a perfectly capable father, to be sure, but he jus' hasn't had the practice fer it."

Gibbs' own words sounded hollow and contrived to him. How could he predict the kind of father Jack would be?

"Can you fetch him for me?" Joana sputtered. "I want to talk to him."

Gibbs welcomed the chance to cease fielding Joana's questions.

"Wait right here," he replied, giving her a smile. "I'll go get 'im fer ye."

* * *

Beckett's opinion of Elizabeth was darkening with each passing second after she had left the brig with Jack. He paced back and forth in the dank room, aware that his cheek was still stinging. _Who does she think she is, anyway? We kiss, she smiles at me and passes me ginger like we're in some sort of secret society, even hugs me in her revelation of pregnancy—and now she gives me a good wallop to the side of the face?_ _No wonder bloody Will got himself technically killed—he probably realized what a mistake he had made from the moment he had married her. Elizabeth probably whacked him across the face right after the vows were exchanged._ _Maybe that's how she goes about things, with violence and vengeance. I must give her credit, because she does happen to be rather good at both. But there is no way I am going to take that bollocks from her. When _I_ had gone about _punishing_ her, as it were, I hadn't put a lot of force behind it. Yet here she is, slapping me across the face with all the strength she can muster._

_Wherever we make berth next—I am leaving for good; Elizabeth be damned. _Yet upon this thought, there came a sinking feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. _Ugh, what the bloody hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

"Was that not what you were going to talk to me about?" Elizabeth said to Jack, eyes wide in a sort of contrived innocence.

"In actuality, no, but now's a good a time as any t' divulge where ye scampered off to wiv Beckett, of all people."

"Cap'n!" an insistent voice rang out from the ladder. Jack and Elizabeth looked up to see Gibbs.

"Uh, Jack, yer daughter wants to speak with ye," Gibbs replied, in a much more hushed voice, eyes darting about tensely as he spoke.

"Tell her I'll be up in one moment," Jack replied, immediately looking back at Elizabeth, his expression changing to one of fright.

"Lizzie, before I head back up there, I need some advice. My intent for seeking you out—"

"Advice on what?" she said, eyes alit with interest.

"Me daughter… Joana. I don' know anythin' about wot I'm supposed to be doin'."

"Well, how am I supposed to know? I'm not a father—"

He put his finger up to stop her in mid-sentence.

"You, most recently of all of us, have—had— a father, an' wiv you bein' about her age, ye'd know best how I should be behavin'."

"Um, well…."

"Cap'n?!" Gibbs' voice rang out.

"Quick," Jack whispered, moving towards the ladder. "Gimme somethin'. Any sort of advice. Please, luv."

He was giving her quite the puppy dog look, and his dark brown kohl-rimmed eyes only aided in his adorable begging gaze.

"Take an interest in what she does. Ask her questions about herself. Maybe tell her about you and her mother—"

He raised a finger again.

"I'm not touchin' that last part," he muttered.

Elizabeth was a bit taken aback, but continued.

"Alright, so don't mention it. But try to stay by her side as much as you can, at least while she's settling in. The only person she has a reason to know on this ship is you. The rest of us are total strangers to her."

"Not quite, bein' as I introduced her to th—"

"_You're_ the reason she's here, Jack."

He blinked in disbelief.

"You really think so?"

"Of course! You're her _father_. She wants to get to know you. You'd better get back up there before she thinks you've rejected her, or something."

Jack flashed Elizabeth a look of exasperation, as he grabbed onto the railing of the ladder.

"If I'd known about this, I'd've—"

"Shhh! Just go!"

Elizabeth felt rather good about herself upon Jack's leave. He was coming to _her_ for advice on fathering. His desire to learn was rather endearing, but also rather scary. In a few months she would have her own child to take care of…. She would have to tell the crew soon about this new development, but maybe not until her belly was more obvious, lest she take all the attention away from Jack's poor daughter, who had essentially been an orphan for fifteen years of her life. Elizabeth felt rather sorry for the skinny girl with Jack's eyes.

* * *

Well, I hoped you liked this first chapter!!

And, ah, a preview for what is to come in the next chapter. Sorry for the shortness of it!

"_This is neither the time nor place for that sort of talk," she muttered under her breath._

"_Then when _is_ the time and place for it then, may I ask," Beckett replied, with a smirk._


	2. Friend Close, Enemy Closer

CHAPTER 2 - The Tale of Davy Jones

A/N: Thank you to the reviewers of last chapter! I'm glad to see you all back! I am very glad that you all were able to see that the sequel is up!

* * *

Beckett could hear Barbossa's gravelly yell from his position in the brig, though he couldn't understand exactly what was being said. He ascended the ladder to the gun deck and was able to then hear the command quite clearly.

"Gents! All o' ye, assemble on deck. I be callin' an importan' meetin'."

Along with the remainder of the crew, Beckett proceeded to the deck, seeing Jack with Joana, Elizabeth leaning against a gunwale by herself, and the remainder of the crew spread out over main deck.

"I've decided it best t' make a stop in the Canary Islands t' acquire some food, bein' as we're in dire need o' it," Barbossa announced. "Afterwards, we shall be proceedin' to Constantinople—the Golden Horn, as it were, where we can renew our weaponry an' gunpowder. The city be so vast, we could very well make berth there fer weeks at a time! What say ye to that?"

"Aye!" came collectively from the hungry crew. Jack sighed, still unable to picture this particular chain of islands in his mind. Even so, the Canary Islands were naught but a day's travel from where the ship was at present.

* * *

Soon the crew had dispersed to their respective stations and Barbossa stood at the helm, a bona fide compass in hand to direct the ship southeast.

Standing next to her father, Joana sensed that Jack was disgusted at some aspect of the other captain standing at the helm.

"What's wrong?" she asked Jack. He turned his head to look at her.

"_He_'s wot's wrong," he replied with a sneer, indicating Barbossa. "Until _he_ decided to mutiny upon me, I was th' sole captain of th' _Black Pearl._ It was I that christened th' ship wiv her name. Now that I've lost me directly accessible array o' weapons, he thinks he can jus' do wot he wants an' go where he wants."

She hung her head, remembering his response when his belt had sunk into the water of the harbor. And when he had to drop his pistol in order to pull her onto the ship.

"I'm sorry," she said, her words brimming with shame. "If it were not for me, you would still have your pistol."

His eyes grew wide as he realized the implications of what she had said.

"No, no, luv; it's not your fault," he told her. "It's th' bloody Tradin' Company or Royal Navy officer or officers, whoever shot me belt off, that are at fault. Otherwise, I would've slipped me pistol back in me sidearm. Not your fault whatsoever."

Suddenly Jack was at a loss for words. _What was Lizzie's advice, again? Ah, yes, to be interested in Joana's past, or, somethin' along those lines…_

"So, wot have you been up to since—" he stammered. He had never met her before now, so he couldn't say what he had originally intended to say. "Since you were born…."

She gave one breathy sort of chuckle, or perhaps it was a scoff. Jack hoped it was the former.

"My mother and I lived with my grandmother and grandfather. She had no other children. I grew up speaking in my native Portuguese, as well as later, English, for, she said, if you returned."

Jack let his eyes go downcast, his cheeks feeling progressively warmer. Was this shame he was feeling? Joana continued speaking.

"When I was ten, the Royal Navy came into town. Everyone on the ship had been wounded. My mother worked for the doctor, and helped the men. One of them was Commodore Beckett. He liked my mother and followed her everywhere. She wanted him to leave her alone, but he kept coming back. The night before the Royal Navy left, my mother was kidnapped from our home. The kidnapper got in through a window. I still can hear her yells in my head. She screamed at me to stay put. I think she knew she was going to die."

Joana looked at her father, who was staring gloomily at his boots, an expression on his face that she had not seen before. His mouth held not a trace of a smile, and his eyes were sad. _So she worked for a doctor, _he mused._ Smarter than me by far, she was. And yet, I left her. Left her alone to die, an' wiv child, no less_. Truth to tell, not many people had seen this particular expression on Captain Jack Sparrow.

After she had fallen silent for a minute or so, Jack became acutely aware that she was staring at him. He raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Well, wot about you?"

Joana sighed. She hadn't really known what to expect from him after revealing the major happenings of the first ten years of her life.

"After my mother was gone, I continued to live with my grandparents. When I was twenty, I began working for the doctor whom my mother had worked for. He got a lot busier after the Royal Navy and the East India Trading Company settled on the island, and so, he needed a new assistant. The men that moved onto the island started treating me the way Beckett had treated my mother. I hated being reminded of that time. I was planning on leaving the island for good the day you showed up."

"Is that why you're wearin' boy's—"

"Yes. I was going to stow away on one of the mens' ships as a cabin boy medic sort and then… disembark at their next stop."

"So you're a medic sort." He said it in a matter-of-fact fashion, with not a hint of disbelief, which was immediately flattering to her. "I didn't take you for older than twenty. How old are you?"

"I am a medic, and I am twenty-five."

"Smart girl—err, woman, bein' as you're twenty-five an' all. So… wot all can you do?"

He saw the trace of a blush creeping across her face, and smiled at his daughter.

"I can suture lacerations and other sorts of blade-induced slices, treat gunshot wounds and burn wounds… conditions like scurvy, seasickness, pneumonia… I am also trained as a midwife… And speaking of that—"

"Scurvy, eh? You may jus' have to treat that in me crew, bein' as we'll be wivout food for a time."

She gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Jus' kiddin', luv. I expect nothin' from you, bein' as you are my blood. Ye can do – or not do – as ye please. Make yourself at home."

All of a sudden her usual sour expression softened into a pleasant smile, her eyes glittering with excitement. Jack was delighted. She spoke, excitement plain in her voice.

"Do you really mean it?"

"'Course, luv," he said, casting her a sidelong smile. "Can't see how you could get all excited sailin' wiv outlaws on our rather male-populous ship, but if it be your desire, it's yours to call home as long as ye like."

She was smiling at him unabashedly now, and he saw this, and smiled back.

Her arms were around Jack in no time. He was taken aback, but soon returned the hug. Jack could probably have wrapped his arms twice around her, she was so skinny.

"Thank you…. Father," she said, voice wavering noticeably from her mouth's position at his shoulder. A strange chill went through the dreadlocked captain. He had never been referred to as 'Father' before. It made him feel older, perhaps wiser. _Nah…_

"Ye can jus' call me Dad, if ye'd rather," he said, shifting his legs uncomfortably, though enjoying this reunion all the same. "'Tis a bit more informal, as it were. More appropriate for a pirate ship."

"Certainly… Dad."

Another one of those strange chills went through him, as he felt her lips brush against his cheek. This was to be a new set of experiences for Captain Jack Sparrow.

* * *

Elizabeth smiled at the exchange between Jack and his daughter as she stood on the opposite side of the ship. Apparently he had taken her advice, because truth to tell, she was rather worried that the sullen girl would never warm up to her long-lost father. And yet, there Joana was, hugging her rogue father already.

Beckett was soon standing right next to Elizabeth, having approached her at the sight of her smiling. Hoping that perhaps by this point she had let the earlier argument between them go. Because really she was the only one aboard the ship who didn't hate him as of yet…. And for some reason, Jack's bloody compass he had tested earlier had stubbornly refused to point at anything but her—which had to have meant something, right?

"Hello, Elizabeth," he said, rather formally, hands clasped together behind his back as he stood next to her.

She flinched and jumped away in shock.

"You nearly scared the wits out of me!" she exclaimed, Beckett sad to see her smile fading fast.

"That was not my intention," he replied, retaining his regal pose. He noticed Jack and Joana embracing across the way. "Ah, I see that Jack and his daughter are bonding. Have you yet revealed to him your own surpri—"

"No, that I have not," she replied curtly.

"When will you be doing so?"

She looked over at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Why does that matter?"

"I was just curious," he said.

"No, there has to be a reason for your showing interest in such a thing," she countered.

He let out a chuckle.

"Well, for the moment it feels like some sort of secret between us. I'm not really accustomed to being in such a situation."

"Probably because you're not easily trusted," she snapped hastily, feeling irritable as she remembered his earlier comments.

"Hmm," he said. "That is rather odd, being as I remember last it was _you_ who was unable to keep a secret for more than a few hours."

Her stomach squirmed and fluttered, remembering the subsequent experience. A punishment that resulted in one of the most fun – and exhilarating – encounters she had ever had.

"I thought you promised to never mention that again," she replied, bitterness in her voice.

"Oops, I've broken my promise," he said, lightly putting a hand to his lips. "Does that warrant a similar punishment to yours?"

She looked at him in disbelief, watching the smirk play across his heart-shaped lips, though the rest of his body remained still. Something bristled deep inside her, but she brushed the feeling aside, remembering that _we are standing on deck with everyone else present_.

"This is neither the time nor place for that sort of talk," she muttered under her breath.

"Then when _is_ the time and place for it then, may I ask."

_The nerve!_ She gaped over at him.

"If there ever happened to be a time and place for it, you've relinquished those in exchange for your earlier words in the brig."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Were you not cruel in your own way?"

"Even if I had been, it did not have an effect on you."

"That's what you think. Now, when I hear my name, I will remember that it has been made synonymous with eating utensils. I have you to thank for that. However, I have gotten over it… as well as that rather forceful slap, if I do say so myself." He watched her cheeks redden oh-so-slightly, and continued. "If you were more like me you'd be much happier," he replied, giving her a little smirk.

"And what makes you say that?"

"Well, for instance, right now you'd be willing to talk of other more, _stimulating_ things, as opposed to this inane banter about what was and what will always be—"

"I am married, Beckett."

"You're widowed."

He waited for the slap. Kept his teeth gritted, even though his expression was tranquil. Her eyes flashed danger. Would she slap him, in front of all these people? Perhaps not, for she'd have to explain her reasoning for it later. And that would be interesting, to say the least.

However, rather than slap Beckett for the second time in one day, Elizabeth took a deep breath and swallowed as she closed her eyes, struggling to regain composure.

"I will only do that which benefits my husband." The statement sounded hollow, even to her. Could it be that she was not as devoted as she wished she was? As she probably _should_ be?

"Hmm." Beckett looked thoughtful, putting a finger to his chin. _Very interesting. I wonder if I can twist things around to make it seem so._

"What sort of a response is that?" she muttered, eyes darting back and forth.

"Your husband must realize that he is not doing his husbandly duties, and is, in effect, leaving you unsatisfied, unfulfilled. As the devoted, dedicated, _adoring_ man he is, would he really wish for his wife to go day after day, night after night, unfulfilled, unhappy, inexplicably lonely?"

"That is not your concern," she replied coldly. _Oh, God. He is coming on to me unabashedly. Is he really proposing doing all this? So Beckett is lusting for me…. Not loving, though, just lusting. It would feel very wrong to concede, even if Will wasn't involved….. Yet,_ is_ Will really involved?_

* * *

That evening, Jack felt anxiety welling up within him, anxiety due to the impending arrival of his daughter to his cabin. All through the day the pirates had done their sailing duties, and had almost revolted at the announcement by Barbossa that their food supplies were gone. Although Barbossa assured them they'd be in the Canary Islands shortly, Jack saw fear flicker across the taller captain's face as the crew became louder in their complaints and threats of violence or abandonment of the vessel.

After tying down the longboat and any other sort of device aboard the ship that the crew could employ to disembark early, Jack went back to his cabin and propped his feet up on his desk, pretending to be lost in the Singaporean charts, though he had had no luck lately in deciphering any of the messages.

"Liamory upfed uduksie glaider… Very interesting," he murmured aloud, turning the innermost circle another ninety degrees to flip the ship in the center upside down. "I think it's comin' together. At least it _looks_ like words," he muttered, rotating the second circle.

Suddenly words came into focus, and lined up to form a recognizable phrase. Jack licked his lips, not letting excitement over this message get the best of him.

"_Friend close, enemy closer_," Jack said aloud, scratching his head. "But wot could they mean by enemy? I mos' certainly am not returnin' to th' Azores to get meself strung up by th' Royal Navy. Or th' East India Trading Company, for that matter."

All of a sudden he heard a timid knocking at the door. He put the chart down and pulled his legs off of the desk.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Joana, having let down her hair out of the ponytail. Her untamed mane was exactly like her mother's hair.

"Hello," she said quietly.

"Don' be shy, luv. Mi casa es su casa."

She exchanged a puzzled look.

"Wait—that's probably somethin' else. Wot I was sayin' was, anythin' that's mine is also yours."

"Ah." Joana flashed him a little smile, looking around the candlelit cabin in awe. With the help of Gibbs, Jack had strung up a makeshift curtain/room divider that partitioned the right side of the room for Joana. They had assembled a cot with Jack's best blankets, made from the finest Chinese silk, for her comfort. She didn't have to know the silk had been permanently borrowed, of course….

"What's that in front of you on the desk?" Joana ventured to ask, as she took a couple of steps into the cabin and saw the foreign charts.

"Oh," he said, glancing down at the map, the inscription clearly readable. He gave it a little turn so the message was no longer readable. "It is a chart, of sorts," Jack murmured, glad that she had not noticed the message. There was no telling who this enemy was supposed to be….

"Wow. How detailed. Where did you get it?"

"Singapore. From our pirate brethren, led by Captain Sao Feng, rest in peace."

He put his head down very briefly, watching Joana parrot him.

"No worries," he reassured her, glancing again at the chart. "He didn' like me much anyway." That was quite the understatement, being as Sao Feng in actuality had wanted to kill him.

"Dad?"

After a moment's hesitation at this novel use of the word, Jack looked up at Joana, who was chewing her lower lip.

"Yes, luv?"

"What was my mother like?"

"Wot do you mean?" He felt his face getting hot. _Obviously this conversation was to surface at some point… but why so bloody soon?_

"What I remember of her, she was a bit hot-headed and bitter about a lot of things. Always recalling the past. Sentimental, I guess. Was she always that way?"

He gave her a half-smile and let out a little chuckle.

"Your mother always was hot-headed. If slaps left scars, my face would be covered in 'em courtesy of her."

"Bitter too?"

"Ehh, not so much bitter, no. Had th' forgiveness of a saint, I must say. All those times I'd disappear for months, an' after lettin' off th' steam, she'd forget all about bein' upset."

"Why did you leave her if you loved her, like you said?"

He put a finger up, feeling his throat constricting. _Bloody hell, she's gonna hate me from day one. Couldn't even have her on my side for more than a day…. _

"That I don't know," he told her, clearing his throat.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"I was a member of the Royal Navy, sailin' all over the world. Bad luck havin' a woman aboard a ship."

At the hurt look she gave him, being as she was a woman upon his ship, he continued speaking hastily.

"—meanin', of course, a ship of the Line. That don' apply to pirate ships."

"Well, _Beckett_ was in the Royal Navy and was willing to take her aboard—"

"An' see wot happened—she died. Like I said, bad luck."

Joana's face was distraught.

"How can you say that in such a matter-of-fact way?" she replied, her eyes looking glassy.

"Wot?"

"How can you not want to kill Beckett for what he did to her? Everyone on this ship already doesn't like him, except for Elizabeth. No one else would be upset if he were gone."

The mention of Elizabeth's name gave Jack hope for a possible change of subject.

"I almos' _did_ kill Beckett, if you remember. However, he claims to not be the one to kill her. If you ever met Mr. Mercer, you'd—"

"It's easy to pass the blame to the dead. They can't defend themselves."

"Wot gives you the idea that Elizabeth doesn't not like him?" The adrenaline of fear coursing through Jack's veins was making his eyesight quiver.

"She's carrying his child," Joana replied matter-of-factly.

* * *

Sorry for the shortness of this chapter! I promise the action picks up VERY quickly, beginning next chapter!! It really is nonstop action after that!

Preview for next chapter:

This was the time that Beckett would determine if Elizabeth was worth pursuing. The tea was his thinly veiled excuse to see her. He realized that he couldn't speak to her during the day when everyone else was up and about, able to eavesdrop, or apparently even down in the brig now either, for fear of someone (like Jack) bursting in on them. _If she slaps me this time, I'll never bother her again._


	3. The Tale of Davy Jones

A/N: Thank you to the reviewers! If I haven't replied to you yet, I will! There's a bit of exposition in this chapter but the next chapter, as you will see by the preview, is going to be INSANE!

* * *

CHAPTER 3: The Tale of Davy Jones

Jack's eyes went wide.

"W-wot?" Maybe he had misheard her. He snorted. "But Beckett doesn't have a child," Jack stammered, hoping that maybe Elizabeth was walking around the Azores with some kid in her arms, just for the fun of it.

"No… she's pregnant with his baby," Joana replied. "I heard her say it. She said she was so excited about being pregnant—and then Beckett kissed her. And she kissed him back."

All the blood drained from Jack's face. This was not good news for several reasons—his own goals for Elizabeth, the wrath of the _Dutchman_, the fact that Cutler Beckett was his greatest enemy, the premise of giving birth on a pirate ship, baby spit-up, and so on...

"A little kiss, like a peck on th' cheek?" he ventured to ask. _Not that it would really make a bloody difference. If he kissed her, that's already too much to bear._

"No. A deep kiss. Mouths. Lasted a couple of minutes," she replied.

"You're makin' this up, aren't you?" Jack muttered, his face having lost all colour. "There's no way they'd ever—"

"I saw them do it. I do not lie. They kissed for a long time in the center of the road. She was playful with him afterwards."

"That bloody runt of a hairless weasel," Jack murmured, staring off into space. So, not only was Elizabeth being unfaithful to her eunuch of a husband, the captain of the _Pearl_'s only active ally…. _Friend close…._ But she was being unfaithful with Cutler Beckett, of all people? _Enemy closer…._ Is that what that phrase could have meant, that the enemy, namely Beckett, was moving in on Elizabeth? Getting closer to her?

Joana's heart sank at Jack's exclamation. _He cares more about her than about_ _Mama…_ The spitfire within her lashed out at him.

"I take it that you are more upset that he is with Elizabeth than you are about his role in the death of the mother of your—"

"Hold on, jus' a moment," Jack blurted, holding up the palm of his hand. "I'm not insinuatin' that. But you must realize, there is a very real threat here in this relationship he's in wiv her. Th' _Black Pearl_ has but one ally that is actually willin' to fight for us. An' that is th' ship that Elizabeth's husband captains… The _Flying Dutchman_; e'er heard of it?"

"He _captains_, at present? But Gibbs told me he was dead—"

"That's only half-true."

She looked utterly lost.

"So you've not heard of th' _Flying Dutchman_ then," he asked her, eliciting a shake of the head from her.

"A sort of ghost ship th' _Dutchman_ is; can materialize out of thin air. Can also move underwater. Neither of which actually have to do wiv my story, but no matter… Now, William Turner, Elizabeth's husband—" he said with a shudder, "—was on the brink of death… An' a person on th' brink o' dyin' can postpone 'is death if th' captain of th' _Flying Dutchman_ recruits 'im to his crew. Also, he can himself become captain of said ship if he stabs th' current captain's heart."

Joana was even more lost, and sat down next to Jack at his desk, eager to understand, her face twisted in confusion.

"It's rather hard to explain," Jack countered, noticing her facial expression. "Alright, so th' former captain of th' _Dutchman_, Davy Jones…"

"Now, that name sounds familiar," she said. "I never heard of the heart thing, though…"

"Well, Jones was captain of th' _Dutchman_ for centuries. Legend has it that durin' his life he was th' lover o' Calypso, goddess of th' sea. 'Course, a mortal man only has so long to live. So, when Jones was nearin' the end of 'is life, Calypso, bein' an immortal goddess, an' lovin' him as she did, made 'im the captain of the _Dutchman_ for all eternity, to ferry souls from this world to th' next. Only problem was, he couldn't come back to land but once every ten years to see his beloved—but o' course, forever is an even longer time. He accepted his duty, for it meant he'd get to keep seein' her an' continue to sail th' seas."

Jack stopped talking for a moment to uncork a thin blue glass flask of rum from a drawer of his desk. Rum always helped the words flow.

"Go on," Joana said, her eyes twinkling with interest, watching him swig the substance. He finished the flask quickly and wiped his mouth off with the back of his bejeweled hand, tossing the empty bottle carelessly into a pile of cushiony material with other empty bottles strewn onto them. Apparently this had become habit for him.

"So, after the first decade of his service in ferryin' dead souls, he came ashore to meet his lover. But Calypso was not there, waitin' for him as she said she would. He was distraught, an' in a fit o' rage, he cut out his own heart an' stowed it away on some faraway land, to keep 'is feelings for her from affectin' him. He also stopped his ferryin' o' souls duty, sailin' about as he pleased an' pickin' up unfortunate sailors for his growin' crew."

"That sounds terrible. But then, why would Elizabeth's husband have gotten to stab—"

"There's more story in between, but wot's important to know is that Will was on th' brink of certain death, havin' himself been stabbed by Jones."

"But if his heart was on some faraway land, how did it get close enough to—"

"Me an' me hearty crew had stolen back Jones's heart from—oh, another bloody long story—well, all that matters is that it was in my possession. I helped Will to stab Jones's heart. An' so now he is th' captain of th' _Dutchman_ an' must ferry souls. An' that whole decade waitin' land thing I told you about earlier now applies to him as well."

"So why would Elizabeth being with Beckett make you hate Beckett more than for the kidnapping of—"

"Because if Captain Turner finds out about this little flirtation, he's gonna blow me ship, as well as all aboard, including yourself, to Kingdom Come… savvy? Always _has_ been th' jealous type, though he's still quite th' helpless whelp. I wouldn't bet on _that_ fact though, if he finds out about Lizzie an' Beckett…." A frown appeared on his face.

Joana certainly didn't want some jealous half-dead ghost ship captain to kill her father and sink his ship, but how _would_ Captain Turner find out about Elizabeth? The fact was, Elizabeth was already pregnant. And Joana knew that no ghost ship had appeared on the streets of the Azores the day Beckett and Elizabeth had kissed. _But then, maybe the captain of the _Dutchman_ can't know what happened on land, being as he cannot go ashore but once every ten years…. It's possible, then, that Beckett and Elizabeth did all of that on land…_

"What are you going to do then?" she ventured to say to Jack.

"Bein' as it is rather late, I'm goin' to sleep on it. Tomorrow will be th' day of decisions."

"Alright."

Jack stood up and moved towards the partition offering Joana some privacy for where she would sleep.

"I'm goin' to hit th' hay. Myself an' Gibbs have assembled an assortment of beddin' in your… room. If it's not comfortable, jus' let me know."

"Well, goodnight then… Dad. I'm sure you'll make the right decision." She stood up and came towards him, making him a bit uncomfortable, as the skinny woman looking lots like her hot-headed slap-happy mother approached him.

"If you'd like to wear more—lady-ish attire an' get some proper sleep clothes—of course, that is, if you want to… no pressure, o' course—" he stammered, watching her as she approached, "—we shall be stoppin' soon in th' Canary Islands, where we can pick up said attire."

"I'd like that. Thank you," she said smilingly. He involuntarily flinched as she stood less than a foot away from him. Instead of the slaps her mother gave him freely, Joana gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Some sort of strange chill ran through Jack at the contact, and he gently encircled her bony frame with his arms, cherishing this unusual moment with his long-lost daughter.

* * *

"Who's there?" Elizabeth called out in the darkness of her cabin as she heard the door creak open, keeping the blankets pulled up to her chin. It had to have been the dead of night at this point.

"It's me," she heard a voice whisper in a raspy tone. She quickly lit a candle on her bedside table. But before she could say anymore, she saw steam rising in two plumes, and watched a hazy figure traipse into her cabin.

"What is that you've got there?" Feverishly she reached for her pistol and retrieved it from its position under her pillow.

"I made some ginger tea," the voice said. Beckett. She lowered the weapon, letting it fall onto the bed.

"You _what_? How did you manage that?"

"It's not very difficult, you know. Boil water, add the root, then cover it and let it sit for a time," he quietly replied. "We must stay very quiet, recalling your sharing a wall with Barbossa's cabin."

Elizabeth was still stuck on the fact that Beckett had made tea.

"How did you learn how to do that?" she asked him, smelling the strong gingery odor wafting in the air. "Surely you've never had to make ginger tea yourself before."

He _tsk_ed at her.

"As a matter of fact I have. If you recall, I've had this—condition—for quite some time, well before I had servants to wait on me hand and foot. I had to learn to make it myself."

"Someone had to have smelled it when you brought it up here!" she exclaimed in a whisper.

"I highly doubt it. I kept it covered until I entered your cabin." He approached her bedside, holding out a teacup for her to take. She tentatively snaked her fingers through the handle, and had soon retrieved it from his hand.

"What are you doing here?" she said, fanning the steam off of the top of the teacup as she remained under the covers. "You're putting yourself at risk doing this sort of—"

He stepped away, leaning against the bedside table, taking a little sip from the steaming teacup.

"Well, in all honesty, I was only going to make myself some tea. But I made too much. And so, rather than waste it, I decided to bring it to someone else afflicted with nausea."

This was the time that Beckett would determine if Elizabeth was worth pursuing. The tea was his thinly veiled excuse to see her. He realized that he couldn't speak to her during the day when everyone else was up and about, able to eavesdrop, or apparently even down in the brig now either, for fear of someone (like Jack) bursting in on them. _If she slaps me this time, I'll never bother her again._

"Why now though?"

"I find that the tea is most effective when drank _before_ the symptoms arise the following day."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied. She took a sip of the substance to find that it was quite bearable, more so than the chewy root. _Much_ more so than the root, as a matter of fact.

Beckett finished up his cup of tea rather quickly, and reached behind him to scratch his back.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth said, watching him struggle to reach the itchy spot.

"Just these damn sutures," he replied quietly. "They itch like nothing else."

"Oh my, that's right. You never did get them removed." She thought for a moment, looking up at the ceiling briefly, letting the tea warm her insides. Beckett didn't even want to know what she was considering.

She suddenly spoke.

"How about this. I can r—"

"No."

"How did you know what I was going to say?"

"Magic, I suppose."

"Right. Well, as a repayment for your bringing me the ginger tea, I will remove your sutures. Do we have an accord?"

"No."

She set down her now empty teacup on her other bedside table and crossed her arms.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know what you're doing," he replied matter-of-factly. "I didn't bring the tea up here to get the sutures removed before dawn."

"How hard can it be? Snipping some stitches and it's all over."

* * *

_Thank heavens she's asleep_, Jack mused, hearing the sounds of slow breathing coming from behind the curtain. He waved his arms crazily around his head as he peeped into a hole in the fabric of the curtain. Joana didn't stir.

In only a minute or so, Jack was knocking very quietly on the door to Barbossa's cabin. After hearing no response from a gentle knock, he began knocking louder and louder until the door was shaking, and finally, he heard creaking.

"What d'ye want? Someone better be dead, to show such persistence at wakin' me up!" came from the room, the hoarse, gravelly voice of Barbossa yelling out angrily.

Jack jiggled the doorknob, his impatience growing.

"C'mon, let me in, _Hector_," he said, talking into the crack of the door.

All of a sudden he heard a loud creak, most likely indicative of Barbossa getting out of bed.

"No one on this ship is t' refer to me by that name!" Barbossa fumed, his voice steadily approaching the door. He opened it so quickly that Jack had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit by it. Even so, one of Jack's feet was not able to move fast enough out of the way, and thus, caught the door and prevented it from slamming against the wall.

"Sparrow?! Tell me, why ye be botherin' me at such a time? I'd think that th' rum an' no food to go along with it would've knocked you out 'til midday tomorrow."

"I've no time for petty squabblin'," Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. "I come to you to discuss an issue of much importance."

"An' what be that?" Barbossa said, flashing his rotten teeth.

"Let us discuss inside, lest someone hear us," Jack replied, eyes darting about the gun deck.

Jack tried to push past the taller captain, but Barbossa didn't budge.

"Ye jus' wanna kick me out of me own cabin, is that right? Where be the others that be waitin' to spring on me once yer inside?"

"Wot are you talkin' about? No one else aboard the bloody ship is even awake now. I doubt, beloved captain that I am, that I could persuade _any_ number of people to awaken at this hour for any reason, let alone to merely get you out of your cabin."

"Then what be yer reason fer disturbin' me, an' at this hour, no less?"

"A rather troublin' situation wiv our _Dutchman_'s bride," he murmured.

Barbossa glanced around behind Jack at the vacant pitch-black gun deck, and then directed the other captain inside his cabin.

* * *

Preview for chapter 4:

Beckett's breath caught in his throat as he glanced down at his lower body. _How am I going to do this without causing her to be offended—or worse?_

"Alright," he said, clearing his throat. "I'd ask you to temporarily close your eyes, then."

"Why—" Elizabeth began to say, but upon looking down and seeing him place his hands at the waistband of his breeches, shut her eyes without another word.


	4. Scargazing

Chapter 4: Scar-gazing

Several hours before the impromptu captain-captain meeting aboard the _Black Pearl_, Lieutenant Morgan sat on the bed that had been made for him in a room of his commanding officer's estate in Southampton. The _Navigator_ had arrived in Southampton only a few hours before, and now that it was nearly sunset, he was instead to speak to the admiral on the morrow. He hadn't even informed his family who lived nearby that he had finally arrived after a lengthy trip to the Caribbean and back. Morgan had removed his hat and frockcoat and was now staring at the small chest on the floor by his feet.

_Damn that Longfellow boy for being there when the chest was discovered_, he mused, stroking his stubbly chin with a calloused hand. _I would have noticed it sooner or later, but the little brat beat me to it. If he hadn't been present, I could have easily hidden the chest from my men. It's not as if it can be opened, anyway. Complete control of the seas lies in simply possessing this chest… I've heard of the East India Trading Company controlling Davy Jones in this way. Yet… how exactly did they summon Jones?_

He stood up, a thought occurring to him, and strolled towards his room's balcony, which overlooked Southampton's main harbour, the hustle and bustle of the travelers and traders even evident by night.

_I'm closer to the harbour than I first thought. Mayhap I will be able to see the _Dutchman_ from here…._

Morgan fetched the chest from its position on the floor, and walked back over to the balcony, stepping through the glass paned doors and taking in a strong whiff of sea breeze. Craning his neck to the right to watch the sun set on the horizon, a pleased smile on his face, he began to shake the chest. Slowly at first. Jolting it about harder and harder until he could hear the heartbeats without first needing to place his ear against the chest. The squishy, juicy thudding when the heart jostled about inside causing his stomach to lurch a bit… ignoring his stomach and shaking it with all his might for what seemed like forever… but then he saw it—a flash of green on the horizon.

* * *

"No," Elizabeth said, "remove it completely. It keeps falling in the way."

"Bloody hell," was Beckett's exasperated reply, as he tried to slip his hand into a sleeve of the shirt dangling about his neck, while he sat on the bed in front of Elizabeth. "Just forget it."

Elizabeth gave him a teasing smile, even though he could not see it.

"Suddenly shy, are we? I've seen you with your shirt off before, you know."

This teasing statement both irritated and excited Beckett, who shoved his hand the remainder of the way through the sleeve. He had to play his latter feeling down.

"Ha. _As if_ that was the case," he snapped irritably. "You've seen more of me than most anyone I can think of."

"Really," she said dryly.

Immediately he realized he had most likely revealed too much, even though his confession had been true. Most certainly no one besides Elizabeth and the _Pearl_'s crew had ever seen a fully exposed rear view of him as when he had been strapped across the cannon to be flogged. He would never have allowed himself to be degraded in such a way, but he had been forced. And unlike Elizabeth, the _Pearl_'s crew had not seen him shirtless. He had been too out of it after the flogging to recall Elizabeth and the crew seeing the front of him as well, while he was being dragged back to the brig. Elizabeth had seen just about all of him, though only one half at a time, of course….

He remained in his reverie as Elizabeth watched him closely, her eyes glittering with mischief. When he didn't respond or even look back at her, she rolled her eyes and returned to seriousness.

"Take off your shirt, Beckett," she snapped.

He gave her an irritated glance.

"Cutler," she corrected.

Feeling a line of chills run up his spine at the mention of his name and the command to remove an article of clothing, Beckett hid his anticipation with a sigh and roll of eyes as he slipped his hand out of the sleeve and then slipped the shirt over his head, laying it on the bed next to him.

He turned sideways and looked back at her, their eyes meeting. Ignoring the automatic throbbing of her heart, was it?, resulting from this gaze, Elizabeth raised her hand towards Beckett's back. Dropping his eyes to follow her approaching arm, he placed his hand on her forearm, lowering it back to the bed.

"What are you doing?"

A smirk played about his mouth. His intense gaze was too much for her, and so she started glancing around. It was then she saw the scar across his stomach. He caught her roving eye and she immediately became embarrassed, grasping for words.

"Where'd you get that?" she said, her gaze on the scar. It was a likely enough reason to be staring at that particular region of his body.

"Where'd I get _what_," he replied slowly, refraining from following her eyes.

"That," she said, pointing at the scar.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific." His smirk was now a smile.

"That scar there."

He looked down, acting as if he couldn't see the scar.

"Where?"

Elizabeth reached her finger out and touched the scar, running her finger along the purple ridge of the healed wound. His stomach rose and fell under her touch, as he became acutely aware of every breath he was taking. All of a sudden, he coughed, and she jerked her hand back as if burned.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You coughed, so obviously you wanted me to stop—"

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"You needn't have stopped what you were doing. There is nothing wrong with being curious."

_Oh, just the freedom to be able to touch him, to be able to be near a man and yet not be doing something wrong in doing so. Obviously I overstepped my boundaries in the Azores, but it didn't amount to anything, did it? Besides, he had been the one to initiate it then… and this is just wound-doctoring._

Suddenly, her hand was within his, as he directed it back to the scar, placing it on the warm flesh. She gulped.

"Go ahead; you can touch it," he said, smiling broadly. "It's a rather odd texture, eh? Nothing to fear."

For a moment she gazed up at him, and feeling utterly bashful, dropped her eyes to the scar. It was a rather long scar, with an upturned curve at either end, much like the shape of a C lying on its back.

"What happened to you," she murmured, entranced by her own fingers moving smoothly across his stomach. He shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to explain. _Bloody hell, why couldn't she have discovered the scar on my thigh instead?_

"Have you seen the P on Sparrow's wrist," he remarked.

"Yes."

"Well, that was the mark I left on him. This—" he said, looking down at his stomach, at her fingers moving through the light-colored hair around the region of the scar, "is the mark he left on me."

He shifted around very gradually so that he was more squarely facing her, as they both sat on her bed. Thankfully for him, she didn't move her hand away this time.

"Did it happen at the same time he was branded—"

"No. Afterwards." He looked back down at her hand, which was now moving slightly upwards on his stomach along the trail of hair running from his chest to his navel, and, noticing that her hand was straying from the path of the scar, he tried ever so hard not to smile unabashedly. This was rather fun, even though the subject matter was not.

"Did you and he have a swordfight, or something?"

Beckett cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Something along those lines. Rather boring story. I'd rather not explain all the tedious details."

In truth, he was embarrassed. It was a story that shouldn't be divulged, if he wished to retain any sense of self-respect.

"Do you have any other scars?" she suddenly blurted, removing her hand from his stomach. Truth to tell, she rather liked when Jack had divulged the origin of all of his battle scars, be they burns, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, or slice wounds, when they both had been marooned alone upon a small island by Barbossa.

"As a matter of fact, I do," he replied, the anticipation of this moment nearly killing him. How was he to show her the wound on his thigh? It was much too high up to roll up the stiff fabric of his breeches, but then there also was the issue of pulling the breeches down….

"Where are they."

"My thigh, for one," he matter-of-factly stated, feeling his throat go dry and heart beat noticeably speed up.

"Oh," she replied, shame in her voice.

"Would you like to see it?"

"Well-I—I"

"I consider it my battle scar," he said with an impish grin. "I received it while in the Royal Navy. From all the suturing that had to be done—"

"Well, alright," she said, shocked that she had agreed so quickly. _But there's nothing wrong with this… I'm just going to see a scar. A rather significant scar, one that's important to him. Yes, that's all it is…._

His breath caught in his throat as he glanced down at his lower body. _How am I going to do this without causing her to be offended—or worse?_

"Alright," he said, clearing his throat. "I'd ask you to temporarily close your eyes, then."

"Why—" she began to say, but upon looking down and seeing him place his hands at the waistband of his breeches, shut her eyes without another word.

He smiled unabashedly, lifting his body off the bed as he snaked his breeches downwards. Thankfully unlike most men of the age he always wore underdrawers—they could be rolled up to reveal the scar. Even so, being already shirtless and soon partially breeches-less, he was essentially disrobing in front of her. Beckett pulled his breeches down to his knees, and then began rolling up the underdrawers from where they hung at knee-level up to thigh-level.

Behind the curtain of her eyelids Elizabeth was distraught, listening to Beckett's fumblings with cloth and whatnot. _What am I going to open my eyes to see? If I do see something inappropriate, how should I react?_

Soon the faded yet ugly wound was revealed in all its glory. Beckett glanced down at it for a moment, noticing his skin turning pink, and then looked up at Elizabeth, her eyes still shut tightly closed.

"You can open your eyes now," he said, sucking in a breath of air, as she obeyed.

Immediately her eyes moved to the bare skin of Beckett's thigh, widening as she saw the remnants of a rather nasty wound. This particular gash dwarfed all of Jack's gunshot wounds –combined.

"What happened to you?" she said, gaping at the purple ribbon-like ridge cutting across the otherwise flawless skin of his leg. The raised edges of the wound looked much like the border of a lasagna noodle. It was rather grotesque, but her eye was oddly drawn to it.

"A cannonball," he replied matter-of-factly. "I tried to get out of the way, but it still managed to peel back a decent amount of flesh as it passed in front of me."

"Who were you fighting?"

He grinned at her.

"Who do you think."

"Pirates?"

"Yes."

"It's rather a shame that as a woman, I am not meant to experience the sorts of adventures you men get to go through every day."

"Perhaps you are not _meant_ to experience them—but you've overcome that restriction, haven't you. You're sailing with bloody pirates, of all people."

"Yes, but I know that wherever I set foot onto land, I would be hanged for the life I've chosen."

"They wouldn't be hanging you because you are a woman with an adventurous life. They'd hang you because you are allied with the pirates."

"Ha, as if that's any different."

"Well, they'd hang me as well, if it makes you feel any better. My story is even more depressing than yours. I spend my entire life on the right side of the law, and yet I'd be strung up just as quickly as Jack Sparrow if I should be caught."

He looked down at the wound on his leg, the permanent scar he'd have from his time in the Royal Navy. He wasn't sure of what to do now; convince her to touch the scar? That could be tricky…. Idly he traced a finger along the ridges, wincing at the unsightliness of it. It wasn't often he was able to see this scar anymore, being as he remained constantly clad in the same clothing aboard the _Black Pearl_, unable to bathe or do anything else civilized as he had once done.

"So, what are you going to do now?" she blurted.

He looked up at her inquisitively. _What does she mean by that_, he mused. Knowing not what to say in response, he simply looked at her.

"Meaning, when we arrive in the Canary Islands, are you going to stay?"

She rather didn't like the idea of Beckett leaving the ship. If he would disembark, she'd be alone. Jack now had Joana to entertain, and so on. And she'd be having this baby to raise all by herself, on a pirate ship, no less. Even though these men were her allies, she didn't like the idea of an infant growing up in their company. Beckett still managed to retain some semblance of dignity, unlike most of these pirates.

He thought for a moment, then replied, breaking eye contact with her.

"I don't plan on staying," he said. "I need to redeem myself to the law-abiding world if I am to remain alive for any length of time."

She raised an eyebrow.

"And are you going to work your way back up the rankings again, if you should be redeemed?"

"Does that question really need to be asked."

"Ha, so in only a short while, you may be the very person ordering my execution," she said, sneering. "It seems everything went full-circle. Jack is not going to like the idea of that."

"—Which is why you can't tell him," Beckett replied quickly.

"If you're planning on killing us all in the near future, why _shouldn't_ I tell, at least to preserve my own well-being?"

It was a good point she had made. If he was willing to go back to the other side, it only made sense for her to look out for the safety of herself and her allies. There had to be some sort of compromise, one that he had been planning on enacting whether or not she was made aware of it.

"Well, to put things on an even keel… I propose that no matter where I end up in the rankings, I would not allow for you to be executed," he told her.

"And why not?" she replied, affronted. This burst of anger from her surprised him a bit. _Now I have to justify my merciful plans for her?_

"Does that really matter," he said dryly.

"It's because I'm pregnant, isn't it? You'd feel guilty in killing my unborn child…. That is, until I have the baby."

"No. It's not because of that."

"Why, then!?"

He sighed deeply, rolling his eyes in utter exasperation.

"If you need to ask then you're not ready to know," he replied sternly. She sat there, deep in thought, eyes unfocused, in response to his comment. A couple of times her eyes wandered down to his thigh, other times to his bare chest. He didn't know what to say or do during this consideration.

"And you'd let the others on board hang?"

"Of course."

"They have spared you your life this entire time you've been aboard, and your immediate plan of action is to _kill_ them? Maybe I should just off you right now and save us all the trouble of what is to come if you are indeed redeemed."

He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. _Ha, Elizabeth killing me. With what, her pillow?_ He supposed it was _possible_ for her to suffocate him but that he'd probably be able to fight her off. His chuckling enraged her. Had she not proven herself to be a formidable adversary?

Suddenly, Elizabeth snatched the ignored pistol from where it lie atop the blankets, and pounced upon the barely-dressed Beckett in nothing but her nightgown, tackling him onto his back.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Jack asked, a moderately loud squeak piercing the absolute silence of the ship.

"Aye, that I did," Barbossa replied.

"Who do you think is up?"

"Sounds to me like that came from Mrs. Turner's cabin," Barbossa said with a knowing sneer.

"Well, why would she be movin' about so violently in bed?"

"More'n likely that be Beckett there with her," Barbossa replied matter-of-factly.

Jack blanched but didn't acknowledge the dropping of his rummy stomach contents into the bottoms of his feet.

"Int'restin'. Just wot I was comin' by to ask you about," Jack replied as unaffected as possible, covering the discomfort he was now feeling acutely with a well-place slur in speech. "I heard from someone that Lizzie is pregnant wiv Beckett's child. Wot say you to that? Can you think of any basis for that sort of folly?"

"As a matter o' fact, Jack, there be good basis fer it. I once caught him an' her on her bed in her cabin, him shirtless, them holdin' hands. I also think there be some foul play betwixt 'em when she were _punishin_' 'im in the brig. Aye, I can believe what ye say."

Barbossa really wanted Beckett off the ship. Even though he knew Beckett feared him and would listen to him, there was still that element of blatant disloyalty there, that unnerving fact that Beckett was capable of shooting him in the back without batting an eye. Yes, the ship would be much safer without Beckett. _O' course, if it truly be that Mrs. Turner is with Beckett's child, removin' the temptation is our best bet t' stayin' in good graces with the _Dutchman.

Jack was fuming inside at the revelation. _Why hadn't Barbossa mentioned that to me before?_ Well, all that mattered was that his fears were confirmed—and that Beckett's time on the _Black Pearl_ was over.

"You know very well of our tie wiv th' _Dutchman_…" Jack began. Barbossa cut him off.

"'Course, Jack," Barbossa replied. "As soon as yer ready, I be raring t' jettison us o' some excess cargo."

* * *

After knocking Beckett flat onto his back, Elizabeth straddled his legs with her own, supporting her body with one arm, her other wrist upon his chest, aiming a pistol under his chin. Their heads were positioned at the foot of the bed, Beckett's legs still dangling off the side of the mattress.

But rather than look fearful, Beckett's expression was at ease, a little smirk playing across his lips.

"You think this is so funny, do you," she snarled, her face looming very close to his own.

His smirk remained, as he shifted his arms from his sides so that they were now in a surrender-position, palms up, on either side of his head. With a mischievous upturn of the corner of his lips, he regarded her intently.

"So," he said in a breathy almost-whisper, "you've got me where you want me. You could do anything to me right now, and I'd be helpless to resist."

He looked at her intently, immediately realizing that he could peer right down her nightgown at her bare breasts.

Beckett could feel himself getting worked up at being able to view Elizabeth from this most delightful angle. The fact that a pistol was pressed up against the underside of his chin was long forgotten. He swallowed rather loudly, face beginning to feel flushed. _This is rather entertaining._

It was then that it registered to Elizabeth that Beckett was no longer making eye contact, his gaze having drifted slightly downwards.

"What are you—" she began to say, glancing down quickly at her nightgown. _Oh my God; he's looking right down my—_

Both of her hands were occupied, however. One of them was supporting her weight, the other holding the pistol. But this scandalous view had to be stopped as soon as possible.

She decided the pistol was more important to retain hold of without misfiring like Jack's had on the Azores, and so lowered her chest directly onto Beckett's bare one, putting her left arm across her collarbones to block any possible remaining view of her décolletage and whatever else he had previously been able to see.

"That's not very gentlemanly behavior; have you gone pirate?" she said, sneering at him as she did so, the pistol still tucked underneath his chin.

Immediately upon the motion of her nightgown-clad skin touching his own bare skin, she felt him shudder under her, as well as the feeling of something rather firm poking into her abdomen. Her eyes grew wide at the thought of what was going through his head at the moment. Fearfully, she looked at his face.

Beckett was giving her the most subtle of smirks.

"Mayhap you should teach me a lesson then," he murmured silkily.

She was annoyed at him for having seen whatever he had seen, but the way he had responded to her had quite the opposite affect. Rather, the way he responded made her want him, seeing such raw interest in his eyes, and such naughtiness in his tone. Oh my, he wanted her to teach him a lesson?! It was then that his hands began to subtly change position, moving downwards so that they were again at his sides. He then raised them up, touching Elizabeth on the back as she lay on top of him.

Upon the touch of Beckett's arms on her back, Elizabeth jolted her head up, the pistol remaining where it was. The contact sent rushes of blood into her face, into her stomach—strange pangs of longing.

"Wh-what do you think you are doing?" she squawked, voice cracking mid-sentence.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he replied, still staring up at the ceiling. "If you're going to shoot me, I'm not going to try to stop you."

"I don't trust you," she said. "And I won't trust you until you can look me in the eye and say that." She very much wanted to retain her stance above him rather than be lying against his warm chest, feeling the firm bulge pressing against her lower body. _Mayhap I should sit up so that I'm straddling him—but oh, bother—that's probably just as bad as this…_

Beckett's head very subtly raised, his chin brushing against the barrel of the pistol. He looked directly at her, his expression serious, hands still remaining on her back.

"I am not going to hurt you or try to prevent you from shooting me," he stated in a monotone.

"Then why are you touching—"

"Because if I am to die tonight, I'd prefer to die reasonably happy," he replied in a huffy tone. Elizabeth was floored by the statement, and the hand holding the pistol went slack, allowing for the pistol to fall onto the bed by Beckett's shoulder.

"So?" she muttered.

"So what?"

"You're no longer in immediate danger of death."

"As I said before, Elizabeth; I'm not going to try to prevent you from shooting me. Which also means that I'm not going to attempt to gain control of the pistol."

"No, what I meant is, you're not going to die now… so why are your hands still on my back?"

"Because you're letting me keep them there."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading along!

Preview for next chapter:

The creaks on the stairs were light and dainty and eased Cutler's mind of anyone else's approach.

"Elizabeth," he whispered sternly, approaching the ladder. "I thought I told you not to follow—"

The barrel of a pistol appeared from above, aimed right between his eyes. Beckett immediately stopped talking, shutting his mouth with no readable expression.


	5. Uh Oh

A/N: Thanks to the wondrous reviewers!

Chapter 5 – Uh Oh

* * *

Elizabeth let out a sort of scoff, and Beckett's hope fell at being able to continue this rather fun romp of sorts. Rather than her immediately sitting back up or snatching the pistol back up, however, Elizabeth looked thoughtful. His words were affecting her as if she had just taken a long run—at least. She could feel herself sweating, could feel moisture in places she didn't know could sweat—or _was_ that actually sweat? Her face was flushed, mouth dry, a throbbing originating from deep within her being. _Oh my, this is just like in the hold…_

Beckett was now shifting beneath her, though his hands still remained on her back. Soon they were almost face to face, him looking up at her. Both of their respirations were noticeably louder and quicker.

"Although my life is no longer in direct danger, I hereby permit you to use me for whatever need you see fit," he murmured huskily, knowing full well that she was also enjoying this situation.

This was too much for her. She gasped, feeling the weight of his arms pulling her very slowly towards him. She didn't fight it.

Suddenly her face was lowering towards his, her eyelids heavy with desire, most likely reflecting the appearance of his own.

"You've no idea the sort of danger you're getting yourself into with me," she replied in a low whisper.

It was then that their lips met, her eyelashes batting against his nose, a rush of sensation coursing through her veins. She needed this former enemy of hers, this man who was making himself vulnerable to her, to satisfy her needs for friendship, companionship, and now…well, whatever was to come of this.

She felt his hands moving along her back, rubbing along either side of her spine in a sort of massage. The firm bulge she had felt from below was definitely twitching, and she positioned herself so that she could benefit from the twitches.

_Oh goodness; the things this woman does to me_, he mused, feeling an overflow of sensation to his lips, to his hands, to his loins. And the fact that she had now shifted herself appropriately made him want to explode. _But I mustn't. It shall be much more pleasurable if I let it build. _

During the kiss, Elizabeth ran her hands along his bare arms, gliding them gently across his chest hair towards his collarbone. Her fingertips glided along, making swirls in his chest hair as she let out little moans in the midst of the kiss.

She could hear a deep rumbling from within his chest as well, obviously the male version of expressing pleasure. His hands settled just above her hips, causing little jolts of squirmy feelings to run through her every couple of seconds, settling deep within her own loins.

When the kiss broke, both Cutler and Elizabeth were panting, their eyelids heavy and lips swollen. He stared directly into her eyes, but she averted her own. Immediately his hands moved to her face, cupping around her temples. She glanced at him furtively, which only excited him further. There was no shame in the furtiveness. He grinned at her naughtily.

"Elizabeth—tell me, what sort of danger am I in now?"

She smirked back.

"Without a doubt, you are in danger of suffocating."

And with that, she replaced her lips on his own in another long, languid kiss, Cutler embracing her tightly against his own trembling body. They were like one lying upon the bed, Beckett flat on his back and Elizabeth clutched up against him, each mouth hungrily exploring the other. It was pure unadulterated bliss for both, only able to feel and not to think, which was quite a godsend for allowing them to enjoy this rare moment.

After the kiss was broken, using both hands to support herself, Elizabeth lifted her upper body so that it was no longer lying flat on Beckett's chest. As he watched her gaze intently at him, she unabashedly scanned his body with her eyes, running her gaze over his chest, over the scar on his stomach. Over his moderately muscled arms, and his bony shoulders.

The sight of this woman being so blatant in her visual exploration of his body was both unnerving and stimulating.

"You're not being very ladylike," he managed to murmur. Immediately her eyes removed themselves from his body, looking back again at his face.

"That sounds familiar, being as you were peering down my nightgown earlier, quite unlike the gentleman you _claim_ to be," she replied matter-of-factly.

"And what exactly are you going to do about that?" he stated, his lips curled up in a devilish grin. "If I am not conditioned properly, I may just repeat the same action."

"Well, being as I most certainly learnt my lesson to not divulge secrets by way of…" Her voice caught in her throat, as she felt a delicious twinge in her stomach at the scandalous, kinky thoughts now running through her head. The juices were definitely flowing through Elizabeth's system, and the throbbing was increasing by leaps and bounds.

He looked up innocently at her, his eyes wide and round.

"By way of _what_, pray tell?"

"A rather sound spanking, if I do recall correctly," she murmured, her whispered voice breaking noticeably.

He was fully ready at this point. Perhaps he was even more stimulated than he had been in the brig, if that was possible. And he just so happened to notice that the neck of her nightgown was sagging quite nicely again, affording him a moderately scandalous view of her décolletage.

"Is that right?" he replied, voice cracking into a husky whisper. _Oh, yes yes, please…_

"Yes. I think a proper spanking should set you right, should make you understand that it's not appropriate to run your eyes over a woman in such a way." Her voice was giggly, but the implications were certainly serious. "It's so… unbecoming of you."

_Oh God. Much more of this talk, and I'm not going to need much action to push me over the edge, _he mused.

Suddenly there sounded the squeaking of door hinges, and the unmistakable closing of Barbossa's cabin door.

Both Beckett and Elizabeth's eyes went wide, and without another word, he slipped out from underneath her seated form, having been positioned over what had been a very happy region of his body.

"I have to leave, before someone sees me," he said, yanking his breeches back up over his undergarments, having not even rolled down the undergarment leg first. It didn't matter. He could not be caught in such a state, let alone so undressed. Disappointment hung thick in the air between the pair. "Barbossa would kill me without another thought."

"Wait—I've just remembered," Elizabeth whispered. "I need to remove the remainder of the sutures. I can make quick work of them," she said, leaning forwards to place a palm upon his back, as he now was seated on the edge of her bed, so that it would steady her other hand for the cut.

"Now is certainly not the time for that."

"You can't very well leave now, just as soon as that other door was opened. Wait a few minutes before you leave. They may still be in the hall for the time being. I owe you this much, for taking me to see the doctor."

She picked up the dagger again and slipped it under a suture, turning the blade to cut the offending thread.

A few minutes passed along with a few more slight tugs followed by minute twangs, and soon Elizabeth spoke again.

"Almost done," she said. She paused very briefly at the sound of what seemed like approaching footsteps. Gulping, she squinted as she placed the dagger under the last knot, nestling the blade right up against the flesh of his shoulder.

Suddenly there was a loud quite-proximal rapping sound, obviously coming from Barbossa's cabin next door, causing Beckett to freeze. The subsequent deafening slam of a door into the doorjamb led to Elizabeth gasping and accidentally slicing the dagger across the wounded region of Beckett's shoulder.

Both of Beckett's hands flew to cover his mouth as he arched his back from the searing pain. He made not a verbalization in the process, keeping his hands planted firmly over his mouth. Elizabeth was immediately amazed as his ability to stay silent.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Cutler!" Elizabeth cried a bit too loudly. Beckett tried to turn quickly to face her and tell her to hush up, but found it to be unbearably painful. Rather, he hissed at her through his gritted teeth, using one of the fingers from his hands to hold up as a sign for silence.

Elizabeth reached out to touch his back. He pulled away, standing up next to the bed in one swift motion as he grabbed his shirt, dropping his hands away from his face.

"You've done quite enough, thank you," he replied coldly, turning and marching towards the door, slipping the shirt down over his head. He could already feel the hot blood trickling down his back, and draped the body of the shirt over the wounded shoulder to soak up the fluid. _I'm surprised it isn't gushing. She sliced me pretty good._

Elizabeth threw off the covers and got out of bed, walking barefoot across the floor towards him.

"But you're bleeding! Stop! I have dressings for that. Please, just let me get them—"

"I'm leaving," he said, his body turned away from her, the shirt slung around his neck. He turned his head only briefly, eyeing her from top to bottom. "Don't follow. You're in no state to walk outside your cabin."

She looked down to find that her nightgown was tucked into her flimsy lower undergarment, exposing the entirety of one leg. With a slight gasp and face immediately reddening, she adjusted the nightgown, mouth agape all the while. By the time she looked back up, Beckett was gone.

* * *

Jack had previously left Barbossa's cabin after an important agreement was reached on what should be done with Beckett. Before he was to go back to his own cabin, however, he had to know…

He stomped up the stairs from his visit to the brig, after a peek at the forecastle and at the hold. Reaching the co-captain's door, he rapped on it in a bit of a rage.

Barbossa slammed the door open angrily in reply.

"Barbossa—Beckett is not in th' brig or hold, nor is he in th' forecastle," Jack murmured in a low voice.

"Did ye check Mrs. Turner's cabin?"

Jack gulped, hating the idea of whatever had occurred in there to cause that squeak heard earlier.

They looked over at her cabin door, which was still enough for the moment.

"Mayhap ye should come in here for a spell, to listen if anyone should leave the cabin," Barbossa recommended. "Ye probably scared 'em in yer complete disregard fer quiet upon comin' back to me cabin."

"Well, _you_ were th' one to slam the bloody door!"

"E'en so, remember our plan? If yer standin' out there, Mrs. Turner may see an' know what's goin' on."

The door was closed quietly behind the two captains.

It wasn't long before Jack and Barbossa heard the creaking of hinges, as obviously Elizabeth's door was being opened, then shut. Jack made a move toward the door.

"Hold yer horses," Barbossa said, grabbing Jack by the sleeve. "Can't make our plan too obvious now, can we?"

"Right. How long do we wait?"

"'Til the right moment."

* * *

"Damn it. I hope she hides those cups," Beckett muttered aloud to himself, sitting on a barrel in the brig. Touching his shirt led to his hand being covered in blood, and he shuddered at the thought that the gunshot wound on his shoulder had been slit open once again. He moved towards the brig's makeshift gun port/head, and washed the disagreeable crimson substance off his hands. His shirt was still draped over his back like a sort of cape. The ladder to the brig creaked ominously.

_Elizabeth_, he mused, frowning at the ladder. _Why the bloody hell did she follow me when I distinctly told her not to? _

The creaks on the stairs were light and dainty and eased Cutler's mind of anyone else's approach.

"Elizabeth," he whispered sternly, approaching the ladder. "I thought I told you not to follow—"

The barrel of a pistol appeared from above, aimed right between his eyes. Beckett immediately stopped talking, shutting his mouth with no readable expression. It was then that Jack descended the steps slowly, keeping the pistol steadily aimed at Beckett, followed by a ducking Barbossa with rapier in hand. Although fear welled up within him, Beckett looked unaffected and stood where he was.

"Do you really expect me to believe that pistol to be loaded," he said blandly to Jack. "I know that if it were, you wouldn't be walking in front of Barbossa."

"Actually," Barbossa shot, "fer once Jack an' I be in complete agreement."

Beckett was caught offguard.

"About what?"

"About yer future."

Any sort of musculature affecting Beckett's mouth immediately relaxed to reveal a morbidly serious expression on the former lord's face.

It was then that Jack noticed Beckett was essentially shirtless. He also noticed the scar across Beckett's stomach.

"So I see, my mark has remained quite apparent all these years, eh, Beckett?" Jack murmured, keeping the pistol steady. Beckett's eyes fell in the direction of the scar.

"Rather sad that in my experience, a blacksmith's apprentice is better wiv a sword than a high officer of th' East India Trading Company," Jack continued, his grin growing. "Didn' even put up a fight… just like in your later _Endeavour_," he added, alluding to the rather pitiful gun battle between the _Pearl_, the _Dutchman_, and the flagship of the East India Trading Company.

_Don't even remind me of my stupidity, _Beckett mused. He remembered that day well.

_About a week after I had had Sparrow branded a pirate and torched his beloved _Wicked Wench_, a black, charred-looking ship pulled into the harbour unrecognized. It did not even occur to me to have my employees investigate the presence of this unusually decorated ship. After all, I had no reason to keep a lookout for any sort of ship, being as I had personally watched Sparrow's _Wicked Wench_ sink into the ocean, remembering the crow's nest and the tip of the mainmast being the last signs of the ship before it had completely disappeared beneath the water._

_Not only had I not recognized the ship from my office overlooking the harbour in Southampton, I didn't notice a former employee, a now scroungy, unkempt man disembarking from the black ship, sauntering up the street towards my building._

_It wasn't until that scroungy, unkempt man appeared in my doorway, unnoticed by Mercer or my other bodyguards, that I was made aware of the return of Jack Sparrow. And most certainly his return would result in the death of me, I supposed, upon becoming aware of his presence._

_I stood up quickly from my desk, pulling my pistol from my coat pocket, cocking it, and aiming it at him as he stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorjamb. Sparrow had a rapier in hand and _tsk_ed at me, moving closer and closer towards my desk. It looked as if he hadn't shaved since the day he was branded…_

_I smirked, even though his approaching me was unnerving._

"_I wouldn't recommend coming any closer, unless you desire to be shot. Rather cowardly suicide, I must say. The pirate life can't be all that bad yet, can it?" _

_I noticed the bandage around his right wrist where I had personally branded a P into his flesh only a week before. _

"_Now, that's not very fair," he replied with a pout. "I'd rather have a bit o' fun at this, Beckett. I think it more honourable that you go down wiv a fight, rather than from th' last swingin' throes of a dyin' pirate havin' been shot only moments before. Now, how about a nice swordfight?"_

_I let out a little chuckle._

"_Rather unfortunate I took your pistol away from you. I suppose you're not pirate enough yet to steal yourself a new one," I stated coolly, my aim not wavering. "However, you're pirate enough to warrant being executed."_

_I pulled the trigger—but nothing happened. Sparrow just stood there in front of me, cutlass in hand, not even flinching or trying to get out of the way. I cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger until it sunk in that the gun was empty. He beamed at me knowingly, none of his teeth having been replaced with gold teeth at this point in his life. _

"_How did you know that it—" I began to stammer. Somehow the bastard was aware that it was empty. Mayhap he had emptied it himself at some indeterminate time. Or maybe he had no idea, but was just that fearless. I could feel my knees knocking together at this point. I believe I must have put the pistol down or dropped it at this point, but no matter, it was no longer in my possession, useless as it was._

"_You recall our last meeting," he stated, taking a step towards me._

"_Of course. How could I ever forget sinking your ship and branding you appropriately."_

"_You shot at my ship, remember? As it was goin' down?"_

_I recalled the moment quite clearly. Shooting the eye out of the figurehead with my expert aim. _

"_You're not a fighter, mate," he said, gesticulating in his way. "Not much of a lover, either, I imagine…" _

_I stared at him incredulously. How the bloody hell would _he_ know anything about my—_

"_Oh, yes," he said, suddenly realizing something, "my point in all this bein', I know that you never reloaded your pistol since then. No reason to, really. I mean, wot do you do anyway? Sit in a bloody office all day starin' out at th' sea. I rather prefer th' pirate life so far… no thanks to you." _

_It was true; I hadn't had to reload the pistol since then. How had he remembered something like that? _

"_You shouldn't have explained yourself," I said, disappointment in my voice, " because in my believing that you had no idea if the pistol was loaded or not, your action—or, inaction, I should say— was much more impressive."_

_I glanced down at the desk, realizing I had put the pistol down, but not recalling doing so. Before I knew it, Sparrow was right in front of me, the point of his rapier touching my chest roughly over my heart._

"_What do you want from me," I said quietly, disgusted that it sounded as if I was caving in to his demands without him needing to do anything. I then gained some nerve, and continued speaking with renewed courage._

"_You realize, of course, that the brand incurred upon your person, as well as your resulting scar, is permanent," I added. "As is your newly appointed social status. Nothing you say or do here can change that. If anything, you'll only be executed sooner."_

"_Is that wot you've chosen to believe," he growled threateningly, never moving the rapier from its spot on my chest. I did not move either. He stood there for a minute more, silent but thinking. The rapier moved downwards to the region of my stomach. Suddenly the point was poking into my flesh. Stupidly I remained still, stubborn as ever._

"_Well, it is only appropriate, then, that I impart on you a lastin' reminder of wot awaits you should _you_ ever choose to cross _me_," he stated, as I noticed a trace of blackened blood staining the bandage on his wrist. _

_I sneered at him, crossing my arms across my chest, attempting to look unafraid. The point of the rapier against my skin was becoming rather painful, as he most certainly applied increasing pressure to it. _

"_And what would that be?" I asked, smirking at him._

_It was then that I simply stood there, unarmed and helpless as a chicken to slaughter, as Sparrow drew his rapier across my stomach, slicing an arc roughly in the shape of a sideways C across my abdomen. I let my hands fall to my sides and then moved them weakly in the direction of his sword as I gasped, feeling the sting as my waistcoat and the flesh beneath it was sliced cleanly through. I was too ashamed to look at him. Instead I watched the blood pool up along the C-shaped slit in my waistcoat, soaking into the fabric to form the shape of what could have been the ruby lips of a whore. Sparrow had caught me completely off-guard and had permanently marked me, without a trace of a fight from me. _

"_I gave you a C," he said, sliding the rapier into his belt. "You know very well wot that refers to."_

_I opened my mouth partway, but didn't get a chance to speak._

"_An' no, it is not in reference to your first name. Though that's quite the coincidence, eh?"_

_Rather than fetch the cutlass I kept nearby, I clutched my stomach, only able to hiss in pain, my eyes welling up as Sparrow lackadaisically sauntered out of my office, out of the building, and out of the harbour back onto his black ship. It was said that he had made a deal with Davy Jones himself to get his bloody ship back. Well, from his sheer audacity in approaching me that day, his faith in his own theories, I couldn't help but to believe the rumour, as outlandish as the story sounded then. I had marked Jack Sparrow as a pirate, and he had marked me as a coward._

Jack spoke to Barbossa, indicating Beckett and his sideways C-shaped scar.

"Never e'en put up a fight, jus' like the cowa—"

"Oh, spare me your lines," Beckett hissed sarcastically, bristling with anger. _If only I had a pistol or rapier now, I'd end what I started_, he mused.

It was then that Beckett noticed Barbossa steadily approaching him, rapier in hand. Slowly Beckett took step after step backwards, looking back and forth between Jack and Barbossa as they continued to cause his retreat.

Barbossa moved more purposely towards Beckett, causing the shorter man to take a rather large, quick step backward, ending up in his running into the hammock.

"I highly recommend not puttin' up a fight, if ye'd like to survive fer at least another couple of hours," Barbossa muttered.

"Why? What's going to happen to me then?"

Jack closed the gap so that Barbossa and he were impeding Beckett from getting to the ladder.

"You never mind that, mate. All that matters is you do wot you're told, an' you will not die by our hands… savvy?"

"What did I do to cause this sudden uprising against me?"

Barbossa chuckled.

"Uprisin'? Fer a second there, Beckett, I coulda swore ye be actin' like yer important."

Barbossa's rapier was now positioned on Beckett's chest. Beckett couldn't help but sigh, remembering the parallels. At least now he could say he _was_ totally unarmed, whereas before with Jack he had had a cutlass right by his side all the while he was sliced open.

"Don' move, Beckett," Jack said soothingly, as if talking to a puppy. "You know… do jus' wot ye did t' earn that scar."

"Oh, shut it," Beckett snapped, knowing he was cornered. He felt the point of Barbossa's rapier pushing into his skin and closed his mouth immediately.

"I think it best ye heed yer own advice," Barbossa hissed, "lest ye lose the last segment o' yer life, short as it be."

Jack moved around back of Beckett and removed the hammock from the grating. Beckett stood still, the point of Barbossa's rapier now shifted to his neck, as Jack wrapped Beckett in the material of the hammock from his knees to his shoulders, pinning Beckett's arms to his sides in the process. It was then that Jack pulled a rank-smelling bandanna from somewhere on his person, and shoved it into Beckett's mouth, positioning another bandanna across Beckett's face to keep Beckett from spitting out the bandanna in his mouth.

_This is bloody awful. I want to vomit. Where was he keeping that bandanna, anyway. Bloody disgusting. Mixture of all the most horrid tastes in the world. Maybe it's best I don't know where it was….. Oh, what are they going to do to me?_

As Jack tied the bandanna at the back of Beckett's head, he noticed the condition of the shirt around Beckett's neck.

"You've quite a bit o' blood back here, Beckett. Wot did you get yourself into?"

"What are ye talkin' about, Jack?" Barbossa asked, frowning at Jack in confusion.

"He's wearin' his shirt like some sort o' blood-soaked cape. Rather interestin' fashion statement, I must say. Though I don't think you'll be around long enough to promote this new article o' clothin'," he said, leaning in towards the former lord. Beckett's brain was too cluttered with frantic thoughts to allow him to hear Jack's speech.

The two men forced Beckett up to main deck, where he could do no more than shout muffled phrases and gag on the revolting piece of cloth in his mouth.

They pushed him to the bow of the ship, holding his upper body out over the churning ocean waters below. It was still pitch black out and Beckett was not able to see any more than the inky waters.

_Oh my God, they're going to let me drown in this getup_, Beckett's brain shouted, him unable to plead verbally. _But wait—there is something I could try._

Beckett fell to his knees on the hard deck in front of Barbossa and Jack, shutting his eyes tightly from the resulting knee-jarring thud on solid wood.

Barbossa and Jack could only stare at him in confusion, in a bit of a shock from this unexpected final plea from Beckett.

The former lord looked up wide-eyed at his pirate enemies looming above him, Barbossa unsheathing the rapier to place it precisely at Beckett's throat. The former lord closed his eyes. Shockingly, he then nodded at Barbossa.

_I'd rather have my throat slit and be done with it than drown in slow agony_._ That is my final wish._

"No, Barbossa," Jack said, resting a hand on his co-captain's arm. "Do you really feel like cleanin' up all that blood so early in th' mornin'?"

"Tha's simple, I'll make someone else do it."

"We should just let him drown, bein' as that was _intended_ to be his cause of death when we sank th' _Endeavour_."

Beckett shook his head frantically, eyes wide, mumbling incoherently.

"Actually, Jack, tha's not such a bad idea, seein' as Beckett is so keen on drownin'."

The two pirate captains moved toward Beckett as he flattened himself to the ground, making himself as dead a weight as possible. Even so, his small frame was able to be lifted by the two grown men, both considerably larger than himself.

Beckett stared at the two captains wide-eyed, already feeling short of breath, as they lifted his struggling body up onto the banister.

"Might not wanna squirm about too much, lest ye fall off before catchin' yerself a good last breath," Barbossa told the frightened prisoner in front of them.

Beckett stared wide-eyed at Jack's gently smiling face as he felt two distinct shoves pushing him backwards into the sea below.

* * *

So.. what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Will enters into the story in the next chapter!

Preview for chapter 6:

Bootstrap relinquished his hold on the helm, noticing the blood red sunset on the larboard side of the ship, as the _Dutchman_ sailed towards Southampton from the south. _Certainly Will doesn't remember Southampton. He was far too young. That means that he did it right… the heart must be here..._


	6. Overboard

Chapter 6: Overboard

A/N: I used to always put those little dashes in between different sections of a chapter, but now this goofy program erases them all. And rather than put lalalalalala in between every section, which I tend to find throws me off, I have these dividers. Are they irritating? If so, I can try to think of alphabetical letters that aren't too distracting, to replace the big page divider lines...

* * *

Several hours before Cutler Beckett's impromptu exit from the _Black Pearl_, Lieutenant Morgan watched from his position on the balcony as a small dark form appeared on the horizon from the south, moving with impossible speed towards the harbour. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled at the ominous view of such a fearsome ship, a stark black pointed form against the southernmost edge of fading crimson sunset, steadily becoming larger and larger as it sailed full speed towards the source of its captain's distress.

* * *

"Beckett?"

Now appropriately dressed, Elizabeth emerged from her cabin to seek out Cutler Beckett. She had given him some time to perhaps rinse off his hands or to collect some water, but figured he'd be back at some point. It had been nearly a half-hour now and he still hadn't returned. The ship was eerily quiet, even more so than usual. Something felt wrong.

M_aybe he was scared off by that slamming earlier, and did not wish to be caught. Maybe that's why he never returned._

She crept quietly down to the brig, a lit candle in hand, in a pair of flat slipper-like shoes, immediately becoming aware of the fact that Beckett's hammock was gone.

"Cutler," she whispered quietly into the dark stillness of the brig. No sign of him anywhere. With that, she traversed to the hold and looked around. Nothing. Sighing, she went back up the ladder, wondering if anyone else would have seen him.

_I think I'll go ask Jack if he heard anything, _she mused_. But wait—his daughter's now staying in his cabin. I do not wish to wake her before dawn on her first day aboard. Eh, I guess I'll just have to wait until everyone aboard awakens. _

She crept back into her cabin and blew out the candle, slipping back under the covers. Although Beckett's absence after such an accident bothered her, sleep overtook her shortly.

* * *

Jack and Barbossa slipped quietly back into their respective cabins, agreeing that they would feign ignorance over the situation. It'd be easiest for Elizabeth to accept that Beckett had simply decided it was his time to leave and so leapt off the ship early. Besides, if Elizabeth Turner really was pregnant with his baby; that would certainly implicate beyond a doubt that she had some sort of feeling for him, and, well, neither pirate captain wanted to deal with Elizabeth's fury upon finding out what really happened to the father of her child. Ignorance would be bliss in this case.

More than an hour later, at the crack of dawn, the dreadlocked captain stood alone on the main deck of the _Black Pearl_, standing on the starboard side of the ship with his back to the blindingly golden sun, with halo of puffy orange clouds around it as it rose from the horizon. This was to be a new time for the _Pearl_. Now Jack had Elizabeth to himself. _She can cry on me shoulder o'er poor Beckett, if she so wishes. I'll do wotever it takes to comfort her…._

As much as Jack hated to avoid asking, he had to feign ignorance over Elizabeth's pregnant condition. Hopefully she'd reveal it soon enough, or perhaps Joana, as a midwife noticing of these things, could helpfully point the pregnancy out in front of Elizabeth. Until then, he was forced to sit tight and bite his nails over the possibility that Lizzie and Beckett had…_consummated_ their rather strange relationship consisting of floggings, blood, and shackles. Not that that was a bad thing, of course….

The thing that bothered Jack Sparrow most was that Elizabeth, aside from being five or so years _younger_ than most likely his firstborn child, was what he had been looking for all these years. And this troubling fact of her pregnancy to Cutler Beckett of all people rather spoiled his high opinion of her. Attempting to refrain from the awful image of Beckett and Elizabeth kissing, Jack recalled some of the other women in his life.

_Luiza had the spirit of adventure, the spark for life… an' mos' certainly th' looks. But her temper was rather frightening. I'd never have lived to this ripe ol' age had I stayed wiv her. _

_Giselle has the looks… as well as th' skill of a skilled…. sort o' women that she is—but I could not deal wiv knowin' how many others will an' have had her._

_Scarlett, the same as Giselle, essentially. Both of 'em also happen to have th' temper of a stubborn ass… after havin' drank a trough of rum an' been spinnin' around th' gears in a smith's shop for hours._

_Tia Dalma certainly had the experience, th' smarts, an' the body to boot, but there was always that strange supernatural state she'd put me in. Sometimes she nearly scared the life out of me—literally. _

_Iara… now _that_ comes a bit closer. Quite charmin', though not as beautiful as the rest. Unbelievably quick-witted. Sharp-tongued, but had a sweet temper, even so. An' somehow, though she claimed to be untouched, she knew an awful lot about wot to do…. Well, that makes her a bloody liar then. _

_Esmerelda… didn' understand a word she said all night but I did like the way she looked at me. Never had a woman fancy me quite so much wiv her eyes. Wish I knew more Spanish then, not that I'm much improved now…._

_Julia... petite girl. Pretty, wiv those pale gray-blue eyes an' wavy hair. Mysterious, though, didn' even tell me her last name. 'Course, it was only for a night or two. Seemed to be of high birth status. I recall her sayin' she could play the pianoforte wiv her toes. However, I was not able to see this particular usage of this position; I preferred to keep her in said position for other, more enticin' reasons. She told me upon partin' that I was her last toy before she was to be wed to some midshipman of the Royal Navy, I believe it was. I liked her wittiness an' total lack of temper. Not one to noticeably hold a grudge, even when her engagement ring happened to disappear by my efforts. Wonder how she explained that one to her betrothed… Well, she was too well-born for me though, for it ever to last. _

_I could not forget the beautiful Neela. Nearly settled down wiv her, I did. Probably left her wiv child. She could speak at least three languages, an' looked absolutely ravishin' in her sari, as well as out of it. Had th' temperament of a saint. Very spiritual an' in touch wiv jus' about every aspect of nature an' her beliefs. Never had a desire to go to sea, though, which was a big problem wiv me. If I wasn't so devoted to preservin' my freedom, I may have stayed there wiv her…. But, I'll never know._

_There were the countless, nameless others… due to my forgettin' those specifics, o' course, not due to my not knowin' their names in the firs' place. I most certainly made sure _they_ knew who they had the privilege of knowin', if only for a few hours. _

_An' then there's Elizabeth… Swann— err, Turner. Beautiful, smart, passionate, though stubborn as a mule. Ruthless, loves th' sea—a born pirate through an' through. Wealthy upbringin', though you'd only know it from th' manner in which she speaks. Highly adventurous an' dare I say, unconventional in her ways. In other words, quite a suitable match for myself. That is, if it weren't for that possible issue in sleepin' wiv Beckett. Not much loyalty to her beloved whelp. Lack o' loyalty—that'll knock her down quite a few notches in my book. However, if it's not true, she an' I can be together on the seas our whole lives—though hers bein' significantly longer than mine due to her youth... That is, if we can avoid th' wrath of th' whelp all th' while…_

Jack was so lost in his own reverie that he failed to see Joana stride up alongside him and lean against the gunwale.

"Good morning," she said to him, making him jump backwards and to the side in a sort of drunken waltz step.

"Mornin', luv. How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you. How about you?"

"Jus' fine," Jack replied, hoping Joana hadn't awoken for his little dawn trek.

"I never realized how close we are to land."

"Wot do you mean?"

"Well, we're sort of headed away from it now, but see out there?" she said, pointing towards a mass on the horizon on the larboard side. "What land is that?"

"Oh," he said, feeling a twinge inside of him. An hour and a half ago, the ship may have been a good deal closer to that distant land mass. He felt an internal sigh coming on. But Beckett was wrapped in hammock material, his mouth tied in a gag and hands roped to his sides. _Don't fret; surely he would have sunk like an anchor_, Jack mused, turning his head more eastward, squinting from the flood of sunlight.

"When do we arrive in the Canary Islands?" Joana asked.

"Oh, is that where we're goin'," he blurted. Suddenly he felt foolish. _The captain of me own ship, an' I don' even know where we're headed? That's rather embarrassin'…._

He forced out a nervous chuckle or two.

"Yes, the Canary Islands. Should be there in less than a day, I should suspect." Truth to tell, he had no clue how long it would take. He still refused to believe the island chain even existed, most certainly to ire Barbossa, yet even so, he had never been there.

"How long are we going to stay there?"

He glanced over at her, becoming only slightly annoyed at these direct questions over things he had no idea about.

"Probably a couple of days, as long as it takes to replenish our food an' drink stores, an' perhaps pick us up some more crew."

* * *

The pitch-black seawater sloshed over Beckett's head as he bobbed about helplessly in the waves. The wind had been knocked out of him after his experiencing the most excruciating pain he had ever known, due to the salt water and its harsh meeting with his new wound. The forceful slap of the salty water against the fresh wound made him hope for immediate death, but soon the mind-numbing pain reverted to more of an _almost_ unbearable throbbing burn.

He lie as still as possible in a horizontal position at the surface of the water, coughing into his gag when saltwater would splash into his nostrils. With adrenaline pumping into overdrive, Beckett knew that if he could not free himself from his hammock wrappings, that he'd be dead within the next several minutes.

Beckett inhaled a massive amount of air through his nostrils and begun a mad shimmy of his arms along his sides, feeling the waterlogged ropes of the hammock cutting into the bare skin of his chest and arms, but not caring. Fortunately the saltwater was supplying him some buoyancy in allowing for the looser hammock ropes to sort of drift in the current. As his remaining supply of oxygen left him and he began to see stars in his vision, he kicked his legs with all his might, freeing the lower half of his body from the hammock.

After he had freed up his legs and hips, Beckett kicked with all his might to bring his upper body well above water to inhale another fresh supply of oxygen. He kept his legs slowly pumping this time as he remained vertical in the water, shimmying and twisting to free himself from the hammock ropes.

Before he saw stars again, Beckett was able to free up his left arm. Immediately he yanked the bandanna from around his head and pulled the reeking gag from his mouth. He allowed for his head to dip below the surface of the water, taking salt water into his mouth and gargling out the taste of the gag.

Upon spitting out the saltwater, Beckett took another breath, this one providing him enough oxygen to free his other arm from the hammock. And soon, he was completely free of the bindings.

"I did it," he muttered aloud to himself, relief flooding his system as he slowly trod water to keep his head above the waves. He looked about the darkness of predawn. The _Black Pearl_ and any sign of her were long gone, not that he'd have any chance of seeing a black hull and sails in the blackness….

_I am going to make Sparrow and Barbossa pay for what they did, if it's the last thing I ever do. I myself will pull the trapdoor out from beneath their feet with a smile on my face._

* * *

Racing the sunset, Bootstrap Bill watched his son clutching his chest in agony as he held the helm steady for their arrival in Southampton. It had all happened so suddenly. He had stood by Captain Will Turner as proud as a father could, as the _Flying Dutchman_ transported her pale and waxen cargo, the souls of those having died at sea, from World's End to the next world. Things had been going well enough so far, Bootstrap noticing Will sighing with relief every time he noticed Elizabeth to not be included in the deceased female bodies hauled onto the ghost ship. But then, something had happened to Will. Bootstrap recalled the events of earlier.

"_Could you take over the helm for me for a bit?" Will had asked his father, placing a hand upon his chest. _

"_What's wrong, Will?"_

"_I'm not feeling so well," the goateed pirate captain responded. _

"_Is it your heart?" Bootstrap held a breath at the thought. Was it possible his son's honest and just reign as Captain of the Dead was to end so soon?_

"_I think so," Will replied, gasping for air. "What should I do?"_

"_Well, you can't very well remain here while your heart is in danger. We need to go back to—"_

"_But I can't," Will countered. "I'm only supposed to return once every ten—"_

"_That applies to land alone, son." _

_Will's eyes went wide, face becoming noticeably paler in the process. Bootstrap was about to grab a hold of his son, when he spoke. _

"_Then what have I been doing here in no-man's-land for all this time—"_

_Bootstrap sighed, half-relieved and half-exasperated._

"_This is your duty. You do have to remain here until you are allowed to return. If you corrupt yer purpose, you will corrupt yerself."_

_Will's eyes narrowed in confusion, as the death grip he had upon his scarred chest led to his knuckles turning white._

"_Meaning…."_

"_Meanin' my appearance will revert back to the way I was when ye discovered me. An' you'll also change in appearance, lookin' worse fer wear as well. However, now, earnin' a backful o' tentacles will be worth the prolongin' of yer life, William."_

"_What do I need to do then?" Will said croakily, falling to his knees with shortness of breath. _

_Bootstrap squatted down by his son's panting body._

"_Think of where ye need to go. Namely, where yer heart is. Ye must settle on the place before sunset, so's we can arrive durin' the green flash. Just think about yer heart, Will. We may have to do some travelin' to come closer to it, but ye need to know what's goin' on."_

"_Alright," Will said breathily, from his position on the deck. He closed his eyes, remembering leaving the chest with Elizabeth on the island. As far as I know, the chest is in her possession, he mused, recalling that final day with her. Maybe she's even still waiting on the island for my return…._

"_Will," he heard Bootstrap say, and opened his eyes in response, "no time to be reminiscent, son. You need to think of yer heart an' yer heart alone. No places, no people. Just the heart."_

_He watched Will close his eyes yet again, clutching his chest and twisting his face into a grimace. Even so, he stood up and grabbed the helm, preparing for whatever was to come…._

_Suddenly the _Flying Dutchman_ had surfaced in the midst of a green flash in the waning light of the sinking sun, seawater splashing up the sides of the vessel, its spray soaking the clueless crew. _

"_Wot are we doin' back 'ere," the crewmember formerly known as Maccus asked, appearing on deck with a confused look on his face._

"_The captain's heart is in danger," Bootstrap quietly explained._

"_It better be, because I'd rather not be earnin' back a hammerhead fer no good reason."_

_Bootstrap Bill growled at his insolent crewmate._

"_Get the rest o' the crew up here so we can move along as quickly as possible." _

Bootstrap relinquished his hold on the helm, noticing the blood red sunset on the larboard side of the ship, as the _Dutchman_ sailed towards Southampton from the south. _Certainly Will doesn't remember Southampton. He was far too young. That means that he did it right… the heart _must_ be here..._

As the ship rapidly approached the harbour, Will regained his composure somewhat, and was soon trying to lift himself off of the deck.

"What are you doin', William?" Bootstrap asked his son, observing his improvement in health. "You can just stay put until we get there, son."

"No, that is quite alright. It doesn't hurt quite as much now," he replied, pulling himself up with help from the helm his father was currently struggling to keep steady.

* * *

Several miles away from the _Flying Dutchman_ on a balcony overlooking the Southampton harbour, the cool sea air whipping across his face, Lieutenant Morgan had ceased shaking the heart about in its small prison.

_If they should come here looking for the heart, they can simply blow me to bits. I have to get to the heart so as to directly threaten it with the immediate danger of a dagger or pistol, rather than shaking it about until it stops beating. If the _Dutchman _were to find me now, her captain could simply snatch the heart away from me with no consequence whatsoever. I have to be smarter about this… _A smile crossed his lips, as he placed the chest down onto the balcony.

"Well, at least I know the _Dutchman_ can be summoned at a moment's notice," he said aloud to himself. _Yet… perhaps a grenade would be a sufficient threat to keep the _Dutchman_'s crew at bay whilst I give out orders. I must access the heart directly somehow. Unfortunately, I have not the time nor the supplies to stand on the harbour and do this tonight. I shall get my chance later…._

* * *

Eventually Beckett grew weary from treading water and resorted instead to lying flat on his back with a hand cupped over his nose to keep sloshing water out.

_Thank goodness I've perfected the art of floating_, he mused, watching the sky very gradually lighten as the minutes passed. Once the sunrise was visible, Beckett began treading water again, and turned around to see a landmass in the distance. He also saw what looked to be an approaching ship coming from the south.

_Oh, if I could only intercept that ship_, he mused, as he watched the form of it slowly approaching. _I wonder if it will stay on course._ _If so, it looks to be headed directly for me. _

Beckett was a bundle of nerves for the next ten minutes, as he struggled to make out the colours of the ship. Once the ship's masts were unfurled white against the dark blue sky, he smiled up at the fading remainders of the moon high in the sky, happy for his good fortune. If it had been the _Pearl_ approaching, it would have either been because Barbossa and Jack wanted to assure they'd done the job of drowning him, or because Elizabeth forced them to go back. More than likely, it would have been the former reason, but even that was not the case here. Just some random ship with white sails approaching him…..

As the ship came closer and closer, Beckett soon realized that he was not going to be on its course. He paddled as quickly as possible in the general direction of the angle of the ship's bow, hoping that his near-lifelong experience with ships would enable him to predict the ship's heading so that he could head it off without overexerting himself and drowning in an attempt to cut it off a bit too late.

A smirk appeared on the cracked lips of Cutler Beckett as the hull of the ship loomed high above him, yet close enough to reach out and touch. He kept absolutely still with only his head above the surface of the water until the ship was nearly upon him, so as not to arouse the suspicion of the crew. As the ship sailed alongside his floating form, he grabbed onto the ladder on the starboard side of the ship and heaved his upper body out of the water.

_Now what the bloody hell am I to do_, he mused, hearing the voices of crew on the main deck. He looked up again, squinting to see the presence of gun ports along the path of the ladder's ascent up the side of the hull.

_Maybe I'm slender enough to fit through a gun port_, he considered, tentatively lifting a leg to climb the lowest rung of the ladder. The ship lurched and groaned upon hitting a rather low wave, and Beckett nearly lost his grip on the ladder, his leg slipping back under the water. _I've got to get to safety as soon as I can, or I will be doomed._

Soon he had crawled up the first several rungs of the ladder and was eyeing the lowest line of gun ports on the ship, stealing a peek now and again to check for the presence of people in the nearest gun port. Eventually he rolled his eyes, feeling incredibly foolish.

_Oh, bloody hell. Of course I'm not going to see anyone. I'm looking into the barrel of a bloody cannon. _

Clinging to the ladder for dear life, Beckett hooked his left arm into the nearest gun port and attempted to squeeze his shoulder through the breach. His head now within the ship and dangerously close to the barrel of a cannon, he let out a long-held breath upon feeling his shoulder steadily making its way through the gun port, even though he most certainly would be picking up a multitude of splinters along the way on the exposed skin of his upper body. He hooked his arm to the inside of the ship as he slid his other arm through the hole, wriggling his upper body like a worm to work his way inside.

_I made it_, Beckett mused, ducking down in front of the cannon on the dim lower gun deck. This particular ship had two rows of gun decks, only one armed with cannons, yet these were similar to the type of cannons a ship of the Royal Navy would possess—yet he could not confirm it as a ship of the Line, being as he had not yet seen the ship's colours. Hopefully the ship was merely some merchant vessel, not affiliated with anyone that would know of the reward for his capture. However, he definitely knew that this ship was headed due north.

_I wonder where I can lay low until the ship makes berth next_, he mused, hearing the muffled sounds of crew coming from a higher deck, most likely the upper gun deck. He glanced down at his bare chest, having lost his bloody cape-like shirt during his struggle to escape the hammock. _I need a change of clothing if I'm to ever blend in with these people; that is, if I cannot manage staying hidden until we make port…_

Ducking along the barrels of the cannons, Beckett made his way to a ladder leading to what he hoped was the hold. He had been correct in his assumptions about the nature of this room, for he found himself to be surrounded by a bounty of food, weaponry, gunpowder, and barrels hopefully containing fresh water.

He opened the tap on a water barrel and ducked his head underneath the valve on the barrel, letting the cool freshness of the liquid drip upon his salty tongue. Eventually this slow relief of his thirst became annoying, and he turned the tap on stronger, allowing for his mouth to fill with water, and swallowing large gulps as his face became soaked with what he couldn't catch in his mouth.

Beckett soon realized the nature of the mess he had made on the floor in front of the barrel. _Just great. Now I probably can't hide in the hold, being as the crew will wonder who got into their water supply. I am being rather daft._

A stack of trunks sat in a far corner, beckoning for the half-dressed former lord to further investigate. He found a multitude of clothing inside, including exotic dresses and gowns from such places as India, China, and Japan. Eventually he picked out a simple dark colored shirt with billowy sleeves, and slipped it over his head, thankful for the gradual return to some form of civility.

Once he was dressed and dry and his thirst and hunger were assuaged, Beckett squeezed himself into the darkest, filthiest corner of the hold, suspecting this to be the least-visited area of the room.

It wasn't long after he had settled himself into his hiding place that Beckett heard the sound of someone approaching.

"Bring up our finest brandy, Wilson!" a heavy Scottish accent rang out. "After all, 'tis only less than a week before we reach Southampton."

Beckett shut his eyes peacefully, a smile crossing his lips as he snuggled against a sack of potatoes. _Ahh,_ _Southampton. The perfect place for my redemption._

* * *

A/N: Please let me know what you think! I really do enjoy reviews! That's why I post these stories online, so people can read them and tell me what they think, good or bad! Otherwise I'd just be stockpiling them on my hard drive and rereading them for myself over and over again!

Preview for chapter 7:

"I got somethin' fer ye," Barbossa muttered.

Joana gaped up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"It's in me cabin."

She saw the glimmer in his eyes and was a bit disgusted. This man looked to be more than twice her age.

"Ha ha, very funny."

"D'ye not believe what I say? I don' lie when I say I have somethin'. So… d'ye want it or not?"


	7. Eunuch Talk

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter! I really love feedback of all kinds and I do take a lot of the suggestions to heart. Those of you who have made suggestions in the past may even see them making an appearance in this story!

This chapter has a good bit of Will in it, but is quite long indeed. Hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter 7: Eunuch Talk

* * *

Captain Will Turner was distraught. Although the hollow in his chest that once was his heart no longer ached him, the troubling fact remained that his heart had traveled quite far from its original location. And it could not be ascertained as to whether or not it was still in Elizabeth's possession. His hope fell as he thought of the prolonged pain he had felt only minutes earlier. The shadows of pain still echoed in the emptiness of his chest.

_I doubt Elizabeth is keeping my heart with her. I'm certain if it was with her, she'd never allow it to come into danger as it did today_. He sighed. _Maybe I should not have trusted her with it…. Oh, what was I thinking…._

Wyvern limped into the organ room of the _Dutchman_, where Will was sitting slumped over the instrument, though not touching the keys.

"Captain," Wyvern said in a breathy whisper. It was fortunate that Will was not playing the organ, for if he had been, he would never have heard Wyvern's weak voice.

The goateed captain turned around in his seat so that he was facing the source of the voice he had heard.

"Hello, Wyvern," he said to the rickety old man. During Will's new duty of transporting the dead, Wyvern had been second only to his own father in kindness and in giving advice.

"I just wanted you to know, in your tenure as a good and loyal captain of the _Dutchman_, that my one hundred years of service is almost up."

Will's eyes became wider as he cocked his head to one side in disbelief at the matter-of-fact admission by the old sailor.

"Does that mean you're going to die—"

"Yes, my boy." He watched concern saturate Will's features. "Don't fret; I'm a century overdue for death and am more than ready to face it."

"Well, if you don't want to pass on just yet, I could try to prolong—"

"No, that's not needed."

Will swallowed, hating the thought of this kind man's impending demise.

"When exactly does your—service on the _Dutchman_ end?" Will asked Wyvern.

"Tomorrow," the old man replied. "Before I finally pass, I had to inform you that there are going to be hard times ahead for you."

"How do you know all this?"

"Your heart, Captain; it's in danger. It's no longer safe. It won't be safe until it is returned to the care of the One you trust with it. Only once it's in that person's care, will your heart be safe again."

"Elizabeth," Will mumbled, seemingly to himself, his words etched with disappointment, staring off in the distance.

"Does she have the key?"

"Elizabeth?" Will asked, looking down and touched his chest briefly. "Yes, I entrusted it to her."

"You must ensure her safety, as well as securing the heart."

"If the heart is in someone else's hands, can danger come to it – and me –without the chest being opened?"

Wyvern gave Will a wry smile.

"I think you can answer that on your own, my boy," he replied. "You are a good and righteous captain, but your innocence may cause you strife."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot predict the future," Wyvern said with a weak chuckle. "You will have to mold your future with your own decisions." He turned unsteadily and began to walk towards the open door of the organ room.

"Wait," Will blurted, standing up.

Wyvern turned his head to look at Will with what limited vision he had left.

"Do you have any other advice for me?" the youthful captain asked.

"Secure the heart… and the key."

"Then what should I do?" Will asked, taking a couple of steps forward.

"Wisdom will direct that particular decision," the old sailor replied, turning his head and trudging slowly out of the room. Neither Will nor Wyvern said any more.

* * *

"Land ho!" Barbossa called midway through the day from his position on the quarterdeck of the _Black Pearl_, at the sight of a group of islands spread out in front of the ship.

"An' so it is," Gibbs muttered to himself as he stood near the mizzenmast, glad that they'd soon be acquiring food and drink. The ship's stockpiles of rum had even diminished to nothing—of course, Jack hadn't revealed to anyone where he hid his secret stores, but even those were being gulped down at an alarming rate by the dreadlocked captain in the privacy of his cabin.

"'Bout bloody time!" Jack exclaimed, as he flung open the door of his cabin. His initial shocked reaction at being able to hear Barbossa's announcement through the walls and windows of his cabin faded upon noticing that two of the small plate glass panels of his cabin windows were notably missing. _I'll have to make a note to pick some new panels up, bein' as I can't be subject to hearin' Barbossa's every word at all times. His voice gets rather grating after a while._

Joana followed Jack out of the cabin, but ascended the stairs to the quarterdeck with Barbossa.

"D'ye see that in the distance, Missy?" Barbossa said, pointing to the distant land masses. "That be the Canary Islands. Once we pick up our foodstuffs and whatnot, ye'll be able to put some meat on yer bones."

The skinny girl let out a little laugh, watching the land masses in front of them become gradually more detailed as the _Pearl_ approached them.

"But seriously. It be Ragetti that worry me, that is, until _ye _come aboar', what with 'is bones all juttin' out. But now, it's safe t' say ye weigh the least o' all of us. An' ye still are wearin' those boys' clothes."

Joana was a bit offended by Barbossa's pointed comments.

"I cannot help the way I am built, but I wear these clothes simply because there is no female clothing aboard."

"I got somethin' fer ye," Barbossa muttered.

She gaped up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"It's in me cabin."

Joana saw the glimmer in his eyes and was a bit disgusted. This man looked to be more than twice her age.

"Ha ha, very funny."

"D'ye not believe what I say? I don' lie when I say I have somethin'. So… d'ye want it or not?"

He took a stagger away from the helm towards the companionway. Joana couldn't help but wonder why Barbossa would be keeping female clothing.

"Why do you think it's going to fit me?" she murmured, watching Barbossa turn back towards her.

Even though Joana was taller and slightly thinner than the rail-thin Elizabeth, Barbossa was certain it'd be a perfect fit.

"Trust me; I jus' know."

He turned back around and headed down the stairs, Joana taking a few halting steps towards him.

"Where are you going?"

"To get the dress, o' course. Ye can man the helm fer now—err, should I say, _woman_ the helm?"

She chuckled at his play on words. So he was allowing her to control the wheel all alone! Even though her father was a co-captain, the only men she had seen manning the helm were Gibbs and Barbossa. _Perhaps Dad just doesn't care about that sort of thing—but I think it's thrilling, getting to control a whole ship._

Joana turned the wheel slightly, watching the sails luff a bit against the cutting breeze. Immediately she turned it back the other way, seeing the sails go back to normal. Barbossa had gone below deck, and had been gone for several minutes now.

_What kind of thing is he going to bring back? I can't even imagine what he has in store_. _For a moment I actually considered him to be like those Royal Navy and EITC men in the Azores, making the worst excuses in order to get me to go back to their houses, to their beds. But I think he actually has something… Why else would he be gone this long?_

Soon Barbossa reappeared above deck, a dark, heavy fabric draped over an arm. He made his way up to the quarterdeck with the dress, the outfit that Elizabeth had worn when he had been the sole captain of the _Pearl_ while cursed.

The taller captain slid the garment off his arm, unfolding it and holding it by the shoulders in front of her. The silk dress was burgundy with puffy sleeves and cream-coloured lace peeking out at the wrist. It was truly a breathtaking garment, with black velvet embroidery on the bodice and a very regal air about it.

Joana couldn't help but be a bit awestruck over such an extravagant dress. She had only planned on wearing the boys' clothes for several weeks aboard whatever ship of the Line she would have stowed away onto, until the next time they made port. Now, however, she had to make do with continuous wear of this now grimy outfit, and frankly, she was rather sick of looking like a sickly cabin boy.

"So, would ye like to wear it?" Barbossa asked her, dangling the dress tantalizingly in front of her. It had been so long since she had looked female. Truth to tell, Elizabeth and her Singaporean attire's constantly capturing the interest of the crew was starting to irk Joana a bit. And the beauty of this dress dwarfed the exoticism of the Singaporean outfit.

"Alright."

Barbossa thrilled to hear the words. He loved to have women wear the dress he kept locked away in a chest in his cabin. But how was skinny, gangly Joana Sparrow going to make the dress look? If she did not flatter the dress, he would think of some reason to cause her to change back into her boys' clothes. Above all, the wearer had to flatter the dress and the dress had to flatter the wearer.

He handed the dress carefully to her, as if it were made of glass.

"Ye can change in Jack's cabin or in me own; it's yer choice," he said, giving her a grin of approval.

"Thank you."

Joana flashed him a wide smile, heading below deck with the garment.

* * *

Elizabeth had remained oddly quiet throughout the day and stayed near the foremast of the ship away from the others. Jack could see that his daughter was communing with Barbossa at the moment, and so stole away to the front of the ship to speak with this possible pregnant traitor on his hands.

"Afternoon, luv," he slurred woozily, stumbling into the foremast as he watched Elizabeth glancing over at him.

"Afternoon, Jack," she replied curtly.

"So wot are you standin' up here all on your ownsies for?" he asked her, flashing a dashing smile.

"It's rather peaceful up here. It's a shame that the gunwale was blown to pieces in the Azores, though." She moved towards the bow's gunwale, kicking at the gaping cannonball-sized holes in the now splintered wood.

"Aye," Jack replied in a low voice as he glanced at the ruined bow of his ship, "but were it not for Gibbs' quick thinkin' resultin' in th' subsequent obliteration of said gunwale, I for one would not be here today."

"Oh, of course. It definitely needed to be done. Though I find it quite odd that the _Black Pearl_ didn't have gun ports at the bow in the first place." She nudged one of the two cannons at the bow with a foot.

"'Tis a good idea to make th' breaches here permanent, an idea that will stick, but I do propose that th' wood should be made more _visually appealin'_ than it is at th' moment."

There suddenly came the sound of a stirring aboard. Jack and Elizabeth turned to look astern, watching a strange woman emerging from below deck in a long burgundy dress. The woman's curly dark auburn hair bounced on her bony shoulders, the fabric of the shiny silk dress dragged only slightly across the deck as the woman walked towards the quarterdeck. The woman was beautiful, a woman Jack had not remembered seeing before. But that was the dress that Barbossa always carried with him, one that held some sort of special significance to him. Understandably so, because the dress was stunning. Truly a sight to see on such a ship. Every hand on deck froze in place, following with their eyes the hesitant movements of the strange new woman on deck.

Barbossa looked towards the mainsail from his position at the helm, watching Joana emerge in the dress he had lent her. Soon he was coughing, because he had momentarily forgotten to breathe. _An' now, she's lookin' up at me… best o' all, without any hatred in her eyes! The dress suits her much better than those boyish duds. I've half a mind t' find her former clothes an' toss 'em out to sea!_

Elizabeth stared at the woman, whom the crew had all stopped their bustling about to watch, as she looked around herself-consciously, tucking an unruly strand of curly hair behind an ear.

"It's Joana," Elizabeth whispered to herself. Jack gaped over at her, his expression disbelieving.

"Lizzie, that can't be Joana; she's—"

"She's what?" Elizabeth gave him a rather piercing stare.

"She's… oh, bugger, I don' recall wot I was goin' to say… Well, that looks an awful lot like a _woman_."

"It _is_ a woman. That's Joana."

He twisted his face up.

"If so, it makes me feel bloody old, to be the father of a grown… woman."

* * *

Joana watched the crewmembers freeze in place to look at her, including Barbossa, whose face seemed to turn crimson for a time. Even her father and Elizabeth had ceased speaking for the moment to gape in her direction. The dress was quite inappropriate for the time of day, and for the type of ship, but it was finally giving her some sort of familiar attention. A sort of attention she had once grown to loathe during her life in the Azores, but had now grown to miss in her becoming a pseudo-male crewmember, with Elizabeth garnering all the attention.

Without speaking a word, Joana held up the dress in ladylike fashion and climbed the stairs to the helm, where Barbossa was waiting silently.

"So… how does it look?" she said, flashing him a toothy smile.

"Like ye were born t' wear it," the blue-eyed captain murmured, still trying to catch his breath.

* * *

Jack and Elizabeth stood at the bow of the ship for a time, chatting idly, when Joana approached her father. He gave her a courtly little bow, and she flashed him a big grin.

"Captain Barbossa is allowing me to wear this dress. Isn't it beautiful?"

"It certainly is, luv. Like it was made for you."

Elizabeth couldn't help but feel a little pang of envy. Joana did look gorgeous in the getup. This had been the dress Elizabeth had worn for Barbossa when the _Black Pearl_ had been cursed, yet when she had worn it, she was amongst enemies. Yes, that why she never received any compliments… right?

"That's what Captain Barbossa said!" Joana exclaimed, the excitement evident all over her face. Suddenly she looked out to sea. "Are those the islands out there?"

"Truth to tell, I dunno," Jack replied. "Here's my telescope. See if you can see a sign, or somethin'."

This had been the time he had planned on asking Elizabeth about her pregnancy in a roundabout way. Joana had to leave for the time being, or he'd miss his chance.

He clumsily handed his daughter the telescope, watching her move a metre or so away from him and Elizabeth to observe the land in the distance.

"Seems to me like you and your daughter are getting along well," Elizabeth said quietly.

"Good advice you most certainly gave me," he replied, looking at the back of her as she stood facing away from them a couple of metres away now, certainly out of earshot, "though she asks an awful lot of questions."

"That is to be expected, really, being as she only just met you for the first time in her life."

Jack flinched as if burned. This was the second time in a short while that Elizabeth made a statement come out the wrong way.

"Oh, Jack—I didn't mean to make it come out harsh like that; it's just, she'll ask less questions as she learns more about you. She just has some catching up to do."

"Well, you've only known me for, wot, aroun' two years, is it? You hadn't been around pirates before then—I assume, but _you_ didn' try to get filled in on me entire youth."

"Yes, well, that's because you're not my father."

He looked mildly affronted, but humorously so.

"Then wot am I to you, if I may be so bold?"

"You are my captain—and fellow pirate," she added with a smile. His expression was serious. "Of course, you're also my friend."

Jack bit his tongue. He so wanted to point out that friends trusted each other, and did she have anything _she_ wanted to say, referring to her carrying Beckett's child, of course, but he refrained from opening his mouth. He instead looked briefly at the quarterdeck, watching Barbossa staring down in Joana's direction, where she remained affixed to staring at the horizon, oblivious to other conversation. Maybe now was the time that he could coerce an admission of pregnancy out of Elizabeth….

The dreadlocked pirate captain leaned against a sturdier region of the bow's gunwale, and smiled over at Elizabeth. Deliberately his eyes scanned over the entirety of her standing form, as she watched him with increasing shock.

After he was done, he looked back at her face, which was turning redder by the second.

"What was that all about?" she stammered, half embarrassed but half flattered by this obvious admiration.

"I was jus' thinkin' about th' lack of food durin' these last couple o' days, an' I hope you aren't bein' affected too aversely by it. Me daughter Joana, on th' other hand, can't afford to lose much more weight. I look forward to arrivin' in these so-called Canary Islands, if only to watch her eat somethin'. You, on th' other hand, look—" he cleared his throat, trying to think of the words, "—well. Even slightly _more_ well than usual, if I may add."

"I don't see how that's possible," she replied with a laugh. "I'm utterly exhausted most of the time. I probably have gigantic bags under my eyes. I may have to borrow some of your kohl in the future to hide the circles."

Now was his chance.

"An' why would that exhaustion be, would you think. No darin' gun battles or rousin' speeches you've had to endure as of late."

She flashed him a smile of excitement and inner joy. Now was her chance.

"Well, I wasn't sure of when to tell everyone, because I don't want to make a big deal of it, but here goes." She took a step closer to Jack and leaned in, her face brushing his shoulder as she murmured into his ear.

"You're pregnant!?" Jack exclaimed in a harsh whisper, feigning shock at this admission. _So she wasn't ashamed of what she had done…._

"I'm pregnant; isn't that exciting!" she exclaimed in a loud, jovial voice. "And can you believe—one day on the island with Will is all it took!"

Joana was suddenly all ears at the admission. _That just can't be_. More than likely her father's eyes were burning a hole into her back right now…. Her face flushed with humiliation. But what was going on between Elizabeth and Beckett then? They without a doubt kissed like lovers, which happened right after she told him about being pregnant.

Jack suddenly felt woozy. _But hadn't Joana said—_ He looked at the back of his daughter, whose shoulders seemed to droop.

"Will? As in William Turner, the son of Bootstrap Bill Turner?" Jack said, snorting in surprise.

"Yes, of course," Elizabeth replied, eyes narrowed. "Who do you think I meant?"

"Not to worry; I was jus' confirmin' wot you had jus' said. Truth to tell, I supposed him to be a eunuch."

"That's not very nice," Elizabeth replied.

"So, lemme see—you've been wiv child since—" he muttered, trying to recall how long ago it had been since the day of the _Endeavour_'s defeat.

"Since the day Will and I spent on the island."

"An' you're _certain_ it's his," Jack suddenly blurted, surprising himself.

"Of course it's his! He is _not _a eunuch, for your information, though that's already more than you should know."

"I agree—totally understandable that you should not have to explain th' whelp's reproductive status, but—even so, he had no heart at th' time, so is it even poss—"

"It must be, because it can be no one else's child."

_Pure bollocks_, Joana mused, unsure of what to do. _She's lying to him_.

Jack felt an internal sigh of relief coming on, but refrained from showing his satisfaction with her answers. Even so, one last clarification was needed.

"You are aware, of course, I assume, of th' acts resultin' in th' conceivin' of said child," he hastened to state, clearing his throat nervously.

"Yes, Jack. And please don't ask me to explain how Will and I went about it." A fierce blush flooded her face at the intimate conversation she was having with the pirate captain with whom she had once enjoyed a rather lovely kiss.

"So you're certain you've not partaken in those sorts of activities wiv any other."

Joana could feel Jack's eyes burrowing into the back of her head.

He stroked his braided chin thoughtfully. "Well, I can rule meself out automatically as a possibility, for if I had been one of those chosen for said activities, I would surely remember doin' so."

"No. Only Will," Elizabeth replied, crossing her arms with a frown on her face. "You really need to get this idea of Will as a eunuch out of your head."

_What a liar Elizabeth is!_ Joana fumed. _Even _if_ the baby is her husband's, she's being unfaithful to him! How can she deny it right to my father's face?_

"Actually," Jack said, clearing his throat, his eyes lingering on the material of his daughter's dress, "any idea of the whelp participatin' in this subject, to me is rather nauseating."

"_Pregnancy_ is nauseating," Elizabeth replied with a sigh. "I've heard from a doctor that pregnancy is even more so nauseating when one is carrying a boy—so I feel that I could very well be carrying a boy—"

"Oh… I wouldn't have thought that. A boy, eh? We are in need of a good cabin boy… savvy?" He flashed her a mischievous toothy grin. "However, if nausea is indeed the case, a rather effective remedy for it is th' root of th' gin—"

She smiled, replying before he had a chance to finish his sentence.

"Yes, Beckett told me about ginger being…." she trailed off, watching Jack's face fade from amusement to moderate agitation. Elizabeth needed to change the subject fast, because she didn't feel much like explaining the series of activities that led Beckett to finding out about her morning sickness.

"Where _is_ Beckett, anyway?" she asked Jack, her smile since faded as well.

"Dunno," was the reply. "Why, have you not seen him?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"No; in fact, I haven't seen him all day. There's no trace of him anywhere. Even his hammock is missing…."

"Well, maybe he abandoned ship," Jack reasoned, "bein' as th' coasts of th' great an' magnificent country of Africa are seemingly closer to our larboard side day by day."

"But why during the night?" she asked herself aloud. "It's not like he was being held prisoner aboard the ship."

Jack held up a finger.

"It is there that you forget, luv, that unlike you an' me, _Beckett_ may consider th' constant company of pirates a prison in an' of itself."

"True," she muttered, recalling Beckett's confession to her, of his return to high society, to work back up the ranks. She had been able to remove all the sutures from the gunshot wound in Beckett's shoulder early this morning, although she had accidentally sliced quite a gash where the wound had been. Maybe Beckett had come by her cabin solely to have the sutures removed so that he'd have more range of movement when swimming away from the ship in his plans of early abandonment of the _Pearl_. After all, he hadn't made every possible attempt to refuse her removal of his sutures, as he had done weeks ago. Mayhap Beckett thought that Jack would try to turn him in to the authorities in the Canary Islands. This idea was highly plausible, being as Jack had previously attempted to turn Beckett in for reward in the Azores. _Beckett probably left on his own volition, _Elizabeth mused,_ but it is rather odd that he neglected to even say goodbye, after what we started to do..._ _Mayhap he was still angry at me for slicing open the wound… Yes, that's probably why he didn't say any more. Well, it's all for the better that he's gone…._

* * *

Lieutenant Thomas Morgan hadn't been able to sleep after seeing the green flash and subsequent approach of the _Flying Dutchman_. Instead, he had spent the next several hours attempting to open the chest in any way possible.

First, he had tried placing the chest between his knees and attempting to lodge an andiron from the fireplace up underneath the lid to pry the lid off. All the while he kept the chest relatively still, so as not to cause consequences from the _Dutchman_. This leverage strategy hadn't worked.

After nursing the sore spots on his inner knees, Morgan had then resorted to snaking two separate eating utensils into the dual keyhole, and jiggling the metal up and down simultaneously to simulate a key. This hadn't worked either.

He wasn't able to break the hinges on the back of the chest's lid, or to manipulate any other part of the chest to become even slightly loosened. It was as if the chest was guarded with magic, which of course made sense being as legend had it that Davy Jones, Master of the Sea, had himself created this chest for the placement of his own heart. Obviously such a supreme being would have made it as impenetrable as possible. Morgan remembered these facts, and was distressed.

_Now what am I going to do? More than likely he keeps the key to the chest on his person—so of course if I could _get_ to Jones without harm befalling myself, once I acquire the key I can control the _Dutchman_—and therefore, the sea._

_Obviously I caused him distress by shaking the heart about, for they returned to the world of the living to investigate. Mayhap in Jones' weakened state, I can snatch the key—but what to do of his ship? _

_I need to separate the captain from his ship and crew. But first I need a messenger, one who is innocent-looking enough to draw the captain from his ship, as well as remaining alive to deliver the news of the captain's arrival._

_Yes. The boy. Longfellow._

* * *

The timid knocking on the door resulted in the lieutenant's quick tucking of the chest back under the bed. It was late that evening, most certainly after Longfellow had fallen asleep.

"Come in, boy," Morgan stated, sitting down to appear as normal as possible at this hour of the night.

"What is it, Sir?" Longfellow asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"I apologize for summoning you at such an hour, but I have a task for you," Morgan replied.

"Yes, Sir?"

"You remember the chest—"

"Yes, the Dead Man's Chest—" Longfellow added. Immediately Morgan was disgusted. So of course the boy knew all the insinuations. He wasn't as ignorant and innocent as first thought… but it was too late now.

"Have you ever heard of the _Flying Dutchman_, boy?"

"Yes," Longfellow replied carefully, his eyes widening at the prospect of such a fearsome ship.

"I would like you to speak to her captain."

"W-what?" Now Longfellow's eyes were goggled out of his head, and his skin was white as a ghost, in stark contrast to the reddish freckles dotting his face and arms.

"I want you to plan a meeting for the _Dutchman_'s captain and myself—alone."

"But, Jones can't come onto land, Sir."

Suddenly Morgan turned and walked the other direction, leaving Longfellow stunned and speechless. He soon heard the sound of jarring metal, and Morgan was again visible, kicking a metal washbasin.

"He can stand in these," Morgan matter-of-factly replied. "I heard that before the _Endeavour_ was sunk by the pirates, he was able to meet with the pirates on a sandbar by way of his standing in a half-barrel of water. Or there may be another way, such as meeting him in a tidepool or what-have-you."

"Alright," Longfellow replied slowly. "But why do you want to speak to the captain alone?"

"I possess the heart. If his crew or ship was in close proximity, they'd kill me for certain."

"What are you going to say to him?"

Morgan looked affronted.

"That is not your concern. What I need from you is to go to the shore, where the _Dutchman_ will have been summoned, and ask to see the captain. Once Jones appears, tell him that the beholder of his heart is nigh. However, you must say, in fear of his own well-being, the beholder asks that the captain meet with him privately to arrange a deal for the safe return of the heart."

"How will I recognize Jones?" the boy asked. "I've never seen him before."

"Oh, it should be quite obvious, I imagine," Morgan replied. "I have heard he has the face of an octopus, a hand resembling a crab's claw, and that he is quite tall."

"But what if he tries to kill me?"

Morgan laughed.

"It'll be obvious to him that you do not have the heart in your possession. Being as he cannot come ashore, he will not know the identity of his heart's beholder unless he relies on your word, and thus, allows for you to live."

"Oh."

"In doing this for the Royal Navy, Longfellow, you will ensure our influence over the world's oceans. You will be a hero. I will arrange for you to be trained as an officer cadet of the Royal Navy. That is my solemn vow to you."

* * *

After detailing the specifics of this mission, not of course mentioning the part about the key, Morgan and Longfellow made their way in the dead of night to the shoreline with only candles to find their way in the dense fog. Morgan hunkered down in the blackness of a cave along the rockier outcrops of the shoreline, but only after instructing Peter to first wait for the ship, and then to only permit the captain alone to see the possessor of the heart.

What the lieutenant hadn't mentioned to the boy was that as the captain approached the cave, he'd begin shaking the chest about again until Jones was sufficiently weakened. Upon the entrance of the captain into the protection of the cave, he'd ambush him and snatch the key away.

Of course, the plan would be much easier had there been a third party, but Morgan was not going to risk involving anyone else. It was bad enough that Longfellow knew, but even then, his shipmates had also become aware of the chest's cargo due to its pulsations. Unlike them, Longfellow was too young and foolish to make some outlandish demand of his role in this staged meeting. He was also too stupid, in Morgan's opinion, to ask the right sorts of pointed questions to understand exactly what the purpose of the meeting was.

Peter Longfellow nervously stood along the shoreline in front of the cave, noticing a narrow rivulet of tide entering and exiting the cave from its position forty-some metres from the shore. All along this stretch of shoreline were similar rivulets. So this was how Morgan had avoided the messy water-bucket-traipsing scheme that would have made meeting the captain a distance from the ship near-impossible. It had been clever that Morgan had chosen low tide for this meeting, because at high tide, the cave was probably half underwater.

The boy felt his knees buckling at the sight of the huge craggy-looking ship looming above him, for it seemed to arrive out of nowhere. Chills ran up and down his spine, and he felt faint, as well as a strong wave of nausea, at the sight.

Imagining a meeting with a tall octopus-crab man was nerve-wracking enough, but the fact that this particular octopus-crab man was also the master of the sea and for whom _Davy Jones' Locker_ had been named nearly caused the boy to forget to breathe.

Once the _Flying Dutchman _was floating a short distance offshore, Longfellow found himself wrought with confusion. Should he wade out a bit further into the water? The water was Jones' territory. What if Jones could just order the waves to swallow him up before he said anything?

* * *

Meanwhile, aboard the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_, Captain Turner had begun experiencing the same pains as earlier indicating danger to his heart. Without haste his ship traveled to the source of this heartache in the pitch black of night, to a location away from the main port of Southampton, a barren shoreline with rocky outcrops.

Bootstrap Bill Turner noticed a skinny boy wading out into the water, a candle barely illuminating his youthful face. How had this boy known where the _Dutchman_ was going to be?

Bootstrap instructed his suffering son to stay unseen by the boy. Worried for the safety of his son, Bootstrap leaned over the gunwale, preparing to speak to the boy in the water.

Longfellow spoke loudly to the man he saw watching him from the deck of the Dutchman. Obviously this was not the octopus-crab captain he had expected. The man standing aboard the _Dutchman_ was pale and waxen, with long stringy hair, a bandanna around his head, and standing at a decently tall height.

"Excuse me, Sir, but I request a private word with your captain along the shoreline."

"And what, may I ask, is the reason fer all this?"

"I know who possesses the captain's heart. And this individual would like to propose a deal that would result in the captain's receipt of his heart, and in the possessor being allowed to live and perhaps having a favour granted unto him for finding the heart."

"A favour?" Bootstrap scoffed. "But this possessor's not even protectin' the heart! It's bein' harmed, if anythin'!"

Bootstrap was afraid of this threat to his son's health. This individual causing the heart such strife only to meet with him to _return_ the heart? What was the breadth of this so-called favour? There had to be something else in it for the possessor of the heart to arrange such a meeting—especially one requiring the captain to be separated from his ship.

Of course, there was the aspect that his son could only die if the heart was stabbed, or shot, or permanently damaged in some other way. But there was the chance that Will could bumble up a meeting ashore, leading to the destruction of his heart. A chance that Bootstrap was not willing to take.

In his position leaning heavily against the mainmast of the _Dutchman_ in a struggle to breathe, Will Turner could hear his father speaking to the earnest boy.

"It's not that," the boy said in rehearsed words. "The possessor of the heart couldn't think of any other way to summon the _Dutchman_."

"Who possesses the heart," Will weakly mumbled to the inattentive back of his father. Seeing no response from Bootstrap, Will grew agitated. _Could it be Elizabeth waiting for me with some dreadful news? _It would then make sense that she would be causing him this pain in order to summon him back to the world of the living…. Or perhaps something terrible had happened to Elizabeth, and she had given the instruction for the next possessor of the heart to contact him—by any means necessary.

"May I speak to the captain?" Peter shouted to Bootstrap.

"I am the captain to whom you are speaking," the old pirate replied without skipping a beat.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I cannot believe—"

Will heard this incorrect admission from his father and thrust himself against the gunwale, shoving Bootstrap aside. Before Bootstrap could pull his son away to better explain why he was going about things in this way, Will had leaned his body over the gunwale and was now peering down at the freckly boy in the water.

"I am the captain," Will Turner declared, mouth set in a grimace, hand clutching his chest all the while. _If I am not able to get to my heart soon, this may very well be the end of me…._

Although this man looked far less-intimidating than the octopus-crab man Peter thought he'd be meeting, the fact that he was clutching his chest, face twisted in agony all the while, was evidence enough to Peter that this man was indeed the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. _Could that young man be Davy Jones_, the boy thought.

"Sir, the possessor of the heart requests a private audience with you—"

Will's eyes were wild with anxiety.

"Does Elizabeth have the heart?"

The boy's expression was blank.

"No, Sir."

"Has something happened to her? Did she leave the heart to this person?" Will exclaimed, voice becoming hoarser with increasing desperation. Longfellow was confused. He hadn't rehearsed this part previously with Lieutenant Morgan.

"I don't know, Sir."

"Who has it? What is his or her name?"

"I'm sorry; I cannot tell you _his_ name as of yet. The gender is all I can divulge." the boy replied.

Bootstrap leaned in towards his son, who was becoming more and more desperate with each passing moment. He watched his son considering what to do next.

"William," he said quietly to the panicky captain, "you can't go ashore."

"And why _wouldn't_ I? My _heart_ is in danger!" Will shot back.

"You don't know the intentions of this person. He may be looking to harm you."

Will was almost inconsolable with rage at this point.

"What can he do to me?" Will replied. "He can't very well bring any harm to my person! All he can do is destroy my heart, which seems to be what may happen soon enough unless I go ashore and hear him out!"

"What reason do you think he wants you to speak with him separate from your ship?"

Will sighed. He looked back down at the boy standing in the water.

"Why does he request my private audience, and ashore of all places? Is he not aware that I can't go ashore—"

"Sir, the possessor wishes to remain safe from your ship, crew, and influence over the seas as the exchange is being made. The only way he can do so is by requesting that you meet alone on land. "

"You can't go ashore," Bootstrap muttered to Will. The young captain flashed his father a look of irritation.

"Well, what would happen if I did?" he whispered harshly back.

"You'd be immediately transported back to the ship, and you would most likely begin to change in appearance, much like Davy Jones."

Will flashed a look of distaste.

"So I wouldn't die, or anything like that," he murmured.

Bootstrap shook his head. "No, you wouldn't die."

"It's worth a change in appearance, to know what may have happened to Elizabeth," Will replied, looking determined. "I'm worried about her."

"Sir," the boy shouted. Will and Bootstrap both glanced down at him. "There is a way for you to meet him without leaving water. You will be ashore, but you will still remain in the water."

Bootstrap gazed off at the shoreline, with its array of rivulets leading varying distances onto land. There were too many rivulets to know which one the possessor would be utilizing to get the captain to walk along.

"What have I got to lose?" Will whispered to his father.

"I advise you against this, Son. Somethin' still doesn't feel right to me."

It was then that Will was overcome with another jolting pain in his chest, and clutched weakly at the source of his agony.

"I need to do this," he said. "If not, I very well may die aboard the ship without ever knowing what happened to Elizabeth."

And with that Will flung his body onto the gunwale, throwing a leg over the side of the ship. He allowed himself to fall into the water below, feeling too weak to descend a ladder. Bootstrap could do nothing else.

Peter watched as the captain simply dropped off the ship. He spoke to the man still remaining ashore.

"The possessor of the heart requests there be no cannonfire or other crew following your captain ashore. Otherwise, the exchange is void and the heart will still remain in his possession and may be in greater danger." Peter's knees knocked below the surface of the water as he spoke his last words. "Do we have an accord, Sir?"

Bootstrap was torn. Perhaps the possessor of the heart might even be prone to stabbing the heart in desperation of the fate that would result from cannonfire or _Dutchman_ crew infiltration.

"Sir?" the boy asked.

The old pirate watched his son surface, Will's eyes shut in agony as he stood up in the choppy shoreline waves, hand still clutching his chest.

"Aye," Bootstrap replied, forlornly gazing upon the retreating figure of his pained son.

* * *

I apologize for the length of time before updating! I should be much quicker next time! Beckett won't be very important in the next couple of chapters, but there'll be plenty of Elizabeth, Jack, Will, Morgan, and Barbossa! Any opinions on that? Well, here is a snippet for what is to come!

"Give it to me, or I will kill you," the sinister voice stated, the point of a dagger piercingly painful against the skin of his back.

Will rolled his eyes in the darkness.

"No."


	8. The Canary In The Cave

Chapter 8: The Canary In the Cave

* * *

William Turner trudged alongside the skinny freckle-faced boy who was leading him to the keeper of his heart. His guts churned at the thought that more than likely the news would be that Elizabeth had been captured by the Royal Navy or East India Trading Company and had perhaps even been executed. The thought of her death—and his immortality—was almost too much to bear. He almost hoped that _if_ the news happened to be true, that Elizabeth had been executed, that the new keeper would stab the heart and allow for him to die as well.

"So, are you the one I am supposed to meet ashore?" Will gasped, stumbling occasionally on barnacle-covered rocks that had been littered up on the shoreline.

"No," the boy replied. "I am merely the messenger. Are you Davy Jones?"

Will glanced over at the earnest child, his eyebrows etched with confusion.

"No, I am William Turner."

Suddenly the boy stopped. He looked over at William, who still had a grip on his chest, and a slight relief came over him. What if he wasn't actually bringing the captain ashore? However, the pain this man was feeling in such a heart-ish place suggested that the captain was indeed this man.

"What happened to Davy Jones?"

"I took his place as captain of the _Flying Dutchman_," Will responded carefully.

"I've heard the captain of the _Dutchman_ has the face of an octopus," Longfellow muttered.

"Yes… that was Jones. However, being as I am faithfully doing my duty as captain, I have not taken on such an appearance."

"Oh, I see." It was reason enough for Longfellow to believe.

The two continued on in silence until they reached the cave. Longfellow hoped that this kind young man would be able to secure a deal with the arrogant lieutenant that would allow for his heart to be safe. The captain of the _Dutchman_ was not intimidating to Longfellow in the least; after all, he was just a man, a normal man, in desperation.

"The possessor of your heart is inside this cave," Longfellow told Turner, stopping outside the narrow split in the rocky outcropping. "I hope that things work out for you."

And with that Longfellow trudged off towards the more urbanized region of Southampton as was the request of Morgan.

Will peered inside the blackness of the cave, seeing no sign of light. He ducked beneath a jutting outcropping above the narrow, low entrance to the cave and maneuvered his pained body inside the alcove.

Darkness overwhelmed him on all sides, but he heard the splashing of water beneath his feet and knew that he was still safe from being transported back to the ship.

"Hello?" he murmured quietly in the blackness. Though there was no verbal response from his heart's keeper, he experienced an immediate complete relief of his pain. His heart was no longer aching him at the moment, though he had been direly weakened by the constant pain of the recent past.

All of a sudden he felt large calloused hands about his neck, short but sharp fingernails digging into his throat and chest. Brawny arms pinning his own arms down at his sides.

Will tried to cry out, but the strength this person had in his hands was stifling his ability to breathe, and he was soon doubled over in trying to shake this person off of him.

A massive muscular body pressed up against his back, the hands of the individual running up and down his own body as if in search of something. His bandanna being ripped from his head, and hair being roughly yanked as a hand snaked through the knotted ponytail.

"Get off of me!" he was able to exclaim, before a hand clamped across his mouth.

"You're not Jones," the man said, running his arms along Will's own human arm.

"No, I'm not. I'm Will Turner. Or hadn't you heard," he added sardonically. The man placed his hand over Will's mouth again.

"Well, if you're the captain, then where's the key, eh?"

Will managed to peel the man's hand back briefly to exclaim, "What key?"

"The key to the Dead Man's Chest."

The man released his grip across Will's mouth, allowing for the captain to speak.

"As if I would allow you to possess both the chest and the key," he scoffed, receiving a punch to the small of his back.

"Give it to me, or I will kill you," the sinister voice stated, the point of a dagger piercingly painful against the skin of his back.

Will rolled his eyes in the darkness of the cave.

"No."

* * *

It was early in the evening when the _Black Pearl_ reached the Canary Islands, namely the Isla de Gran Canaria. The entire crew of the _Pearl_, including both captains, ambled ashore after mooring the black ship in the harbour.

Elizabeth, Jack, Joana, and Gibbs remained in a group as they went ashore.

"What shall we purchase first?" Elizabeth asked. "Food? Fresh water?—"

"Rum," Jack replied quickly. The governor's daughter couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"I see wot you jus' did, Lizzie. But th' fact of th' matter is, Smith an' Hawkins are responsible for luggin' th' water, Pintel an' Ragetti for gatherin' any sort of _unattended_ gunpowder or cannonballs, an' th' remainder of the crew includin' Marty an' Cotton for acquiring us some food. Ah, almost forgot…" he looked at Joana, who was still wearing the elegant burgundy dress. "Luv, if ye'd like to get some other clothin' in addition to your finery, that's a possibility as well."

Joana smiled and subtly nodded. However, Elizabeth was perturbed by something, and spoke again.

"But what of Captain Barbossa?"

"He is responsible for acquirin' us some valuables an' coin that can be used in th' future to secure supplies in Constantinople."

"Ah, I see," Elizabeth replied, satisfied with his explanations.

Joana then thought of something.

"But aren't you worried that Barbossa will return to the ship first and sail away without you?"

Jack lifted a finger to speak, a broad smile overtaking his face.

"I have ensured that each an' every crewmember of th' _Pearl_ is off th' ship, so that if Barbossa should return, he'd have no one to man th' ship."

"But what if another group of people come aboard? They could commandeer it without a fight," Joana added.

Jack glanced at the looming black figure of his ship bobbing in the rather empty harbour.

"Bugger," he muttered under his breath. "Guess I have to live th' burden of th' captain of th' _Flying Dutchman_ after all, wiv none of th' added benefits of immortality," he added bitterly, as he trudged back to his beloved ship. He hadn't looked to Elizabeth to visualize her response.

Gibbs sped up so that he was walking alongside the sulky captain.

"Cap'n," he said, eliciting a look from Jack. "I could wait aboard the _Pearl_ until ye return, to ensure no one in the meantime commandeers her."

A smile appeared on Jack's face as he halted in place, Elizabeth stumbling into his back.

"Mr. Gibbs," he stated proudly. "Eminently practical, an' yet appropriate as always." He patted his First Mate on the back. "Thanks, mate."

Elizabeth, Joana, and Jack turned once more to the city of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Jack beaming in realization that unlike the split-second Azores visit, the Greenland offshore floating, and the very brief visit to Curaçao, he would now be able to walk ashore with hopefully no issue of needing to run again.

The central route through town was a bustle of activity and rapid non-English speech. Joana was able to recognize a word now and then, but this language was not Portuguese.

"Do you know what language they are speaking?" she whispered to the two members of her party.

"Spanish," Jack replied. "Rather quickly they speak, eh?"

"Yes," both women agreed. The din of the constant speech was a bit unnerving, to say the least, and the fact that barely any words were recognizable made the situation worse.

The trio soon was standing outside a tavern, which was not yet opened at this hour of the afternoon. Jack squatted down by a cellar window.

"What are you doing, Jack?" Elizabeth asked. "You can't go in at this hour."

"Ever wonder th' best source o' rum?" Jack countered. "These sorts of establishments, o' course."

"But it's not open yet."

"Not a problem that a little _leverage_ can't help," Jack replied. He grabbed Elizabeth by the hips, pulling her to block his view of the passersby. Her initial shock at this sort of physical contact was soon relieved by the realization of what he was trying to do.

"Why don' you an' Joana strike up friendly conversation?" he offered. "Can you scoot towards Lizzie a little, luv?" he added, referring to his daughter. She did as requested.

A conversation was soon begun, and within a minute or so, Jack's arm was tugging at the backs of their shirts. They both looked down to see him in the cellar window of the tavern.

"Come on, luvs," he murmured, holding out two bottles of rum.

Elizabeth took both bottles, and Jack's arms disappeared from sight.

Eventually both women were holding a total of nine bottles of rum between the two of them. Jack placed aside another six bottles and squirmed his way out of the window with some sort of cloth in hand. He unfurled the cloth to reveal what appeared to be a barmaid's dress, smiling knowingly at Joana. Joana watched in interest as he painstakingly wrapped the half-dozen bottles in the fabric of what appeared to be her new clothing.

"To th' _Pearl_?" Jack asked then. His companions nodded, balancing their heavy glass cargo in their arms. With a roguish grin on his face, clutching the dress-wrapped bottles of rum to his chest with both arms, Jack led his female companions back to his ship.

* * *

At Turner's adamant refusal to hand over the key to the Dead Man's Chest, Lieutenant Morgan simply buried his dagger to the hilt in Turner's back. He had of course forgotten that Turner could not be physically harmed.

"Ha," Will replied haughtily, "you cannot hurt me."

"It is there that you forget that I _have_ hurt you, through possession of your heart," the lieutenant replied.

"But you cannot open the chest, so you cannot actually—"

"I can very well kill you without needing to open the chest," Morgan matter-of-factly replied. "As you well know." The smile that appeared on the lieutenant's face was not visible to Will in the pitch black of the cave.

"Your efforts were all for naught, for I do not have the key to the chest," Will growled.

"Then where is it?"

"As if I would tell you."

He was then tackled to the ground by this mysterious man, the large hands running along his body again in a violating fashion. Will rolled to the side in an attempt to escape this probing, and perhaps find the chest in the darkness. _It has to be here somewhere for me to have felt pain until entering the cave….. _

He dug his hands into increasingly drier sand deposits along the floor of the cave, skinning his knees on sharp rocks under the sandy surface as he pulled himself towards a wall of the cave, feeling the man pulling him back by his hips.

"Let go of me; I don't have the key!" he exclaimed, attempting to kick away the persistent man. One of his kicks must have hit the mark, for he heard the man groan and release his hold on him. As the mystery man panted and cursed in the blackness behind him, Will waved his hands along the ground in front of him, hoping to make contact with the chest. He pulled his legs fully away from the man so that they were now tucked under his chest as he squatted by the cave wall. All of a sudden Will was back on the _Dutchman_, lying on main deck on his belly. Bootstrap, Jimmylegs and Wyvern were standing in the vicinity of where William had ended up.

"What happened, William?" Bootstrap exclaimed, hunkering down next to his son.

"He wanted the key," Will replied. "He tried to kill me."

Bootstrap's face noticeably paled.

"And did he get the key?" he asked, fearing the worst.

"No," Will said with a sigh. "I don't have the key."

"Who does?" Jimmylegs inquired.

"Elizabeth."

* * *

Cutler Beckett had quickly grown weary of remaining in the dusty, filth-encrusted corner of the hold in the ship on which he had stowed away.

It was now afternoon on the first day of his new life. _My redeemed life_, he had to tell himself again and again. _They will give me a chance to make my case. They just _have_ to._

He'd sneak out of his hiding spot occasionally to grab more hardtack or water, and upon hearing the creaking of the boards above his head, would quickly retreat to his dusty little alcove with a sigh of exasperation. He was tiring of this game.

However, in remaining unnoticed whilst hearing crew both in the hold and above his head, Beckett came to the realization that the sailors on this particular vessel possessed a variety of accents: Scottish, Irish, British, Indian, and Portuguese, to name a few. Most certainly this wasn't a ship of the British Royal Navy, based on the various homelands represented by this crew. And the fact that the cannons on this ship were not standard of the EITC made it doubtful that this ship was in fact a ship of that particular line either.

It seemed his thirst was insatiable. Listening for approaching sailors and hearing none, Beckett emerged from his hiding place. Upon reaching the water barrel, he sank to his knees, putting his mouth beneath the tap, and turned the valve.

_Southampton is rapidly approaching. Once there, I need to prove where my allegiance truly lies. And that will involve turning in the pirates. I do have some rather damning information on the pirates. Firstly, I know where the _Black Pearl_ is headed, and I know the timeframe of how long they'll be staying at their next destination. Secondly, I am well-aware that they are weak from their lack of gunpowder and weaponry and will easily be overcome. However, I must convince the courts to act quickly so that we can intercept the pirates—otherwise; I have nothing to offer them to redeem myself._

As his mind wandered with thoughts of a prosperous future, Beckett did not hear the approaching Scotsmen headed down the ladder. Save for his visits to Elizabeth's cabin, he had not had to sneak about the _Black Pearl_ avoiding detection.

_Elizabeth. She probably wonders where I went… if, of course, she wasn't in on the plan to begin with. Egh, I doubt it. Otherwise, she would never have done… those things. _

He found himself longing to finish that experience in her cabin. _Once I get back to England I'll return to my old ways—which is completely contrary to what it would take to continue any sort of relationship with her. A shame, really, because aside from the fact that my reputation is destroyed, having lived for so long amongst the enemy, and being penniless and viciously slandered all the while, the recent times I've spent in her company have been rather pleasant._

The last several drops of water entered his parched mouth as a shadow appeared above him.

"An' wot th' 'ell do ye think you're doin'?"

* * *

I've also decided to give Beckett more "screen-time" in the next few chapters, e'en though I said I wasn't goin' to do so. Instead of a preview, I will tell ye that there be Sparrabeth in the next chapter!

Review, me hearties, yo ho!


	9. Desperation and Depravation

Thank you, reviewers! You make my posting this story worth it!

* * *

Chapter 9: Desperation and Depravation

* * *

_Oh God. I've already destroyed all hope for survival, _Beckett mused, freezing in place._ Bloody stupid fool…._

"Aren't ye goin' to listen to me?" the Scotsman added. His friend pulled out a rather neat little pistol, aiming it at Beckett's curly-haired head.

"I'm sorry," Beckett mumbled contritely. Still on his knees, he moved slowly away from the water barrel, lifting his eyes ever so slowly to look upon the two men standing above him.

"Wot are ye doin' here? Ye certainly aren't one o' us. We don't got no Brits aboard this ship."

Beckett smiled humourlessly.

"Well, you do now," he mumbled in a dry tone, more to himself.

"Wot did he say?" the second Scotsman piped in.

"Nothing," Beckett muttered, bowing his head.

"Where'd ye come from?"

_Should I be honest? It may be the best thing to do._

"I escaped captivity aboard a pirate ship," he replied. "And I climbed aboard this passing ship."

"I don't recall seein' no pirate ship," one replied. "That would 'ave been a grave concern indeed. All we is is a merchant vessel, though we've learned to carry plenty o' cannons, as you are prob'ly aware."

"I noticed that. I left the pirate ship several hours before seeing your own, so it's possible that you missed it," Beckett said, keeping his head bowed. If he could appeal to their pitying side, perhaps they'd let him live—and better yet, stay.

"An' wot ship was that?"

"The _Black Pearl_."

Both men's eyes went wide, and they shuddered, looking at each other.

"How do we know ye ain't a pirate spy yourself, come to hawk at wot we 'ave. The _Pearl_ is famous for not takin' any pris'ners."

"Do I appear to have the speech and mannerisms of a pirate?" Beckett said with boredom, a hint of arrogance in his explanation as he lifted his head to look at the men.

"From 'ow ye was drinkin' that water when we come down here, aye, I daresay ye do."

This provoked an eyeroll from Beckett.

"Well, I am not one of them," he stated clearly. "All I ask is that you allow me to remain aboard until you reach your destination. You will never hear from me again after that."

"D'ye 'ave some sort o' rendezvous with your pirates where we make port, do ye? I think that your interest in our water supply hints that ye'd be more than happy to be committed back to the sea—"

"Please don't do that," Beckett interrupted, feeling desperation rising in his throat. _Am I going to have to bloody beg and cry to get these bloody heathens to keep me here? _

"Our ship's already overcrowded," one said, moving his hand towards his sidearm. "There's no way we're goin' to let you stay 'ere."

"I'll pay you handsomely."

"Right now?"

"No. I have an estate in Southampton. I will fetch some funds from—"

"Ha, as if we'd believe such foolish chatter. Ye look like a failed pirate. Wait—how'd you know we was headed to Southampton?"

"An' isn't that one of our shirts?" the second Scotsman said, pointing at the dark shirt Beckett was wearing.

"No," he muttered, looking down. Things were looking quite bad for him, and certainly Southampton was at least another two weeks' travel—by ship.

"I know 'ow we can prove he's lyin'. There's a hole in the left elbow o' that shirt."

Beckett blanched, his hand moving subtly to feel the bare skin of his left elbow. _Oh God…_

"Lift up your arm, or we'll do it for ye."

Bowing his head and shutting his eyes, Beckett lifted his left arm. The hole was there in all its glory.

"So you're a thief, too. Ye can't deny ye've got the pirate mannerisms down-pat."

"Take it off!" the second Scotsman demanded. Beckett remained calm.

"Please let me wear it temporarily. I have no other clothing to wear—"

"Wah wah, 'ow sad indeed. Too bad ye didn' ask _before_ ye decided to wear it."

"I ask you now. I beg you… just until we reach Southampton."

"_We?_ As in, you included? Ha ha ha. An' wot gives you the right to think you can just get onto our ship an'—"

"I would have drowned had I not."

"Well, hopefully ye learned some swimmin' from your experience, because that's where you're headed next."

"Is there some way I can convince you to let me stay?"

"No."

"A deckhand. Anything. Please. I can do just about any job."

This was a blatant lie, being as Beckett was not accustomed to manual labor in any sense of the word. He was, however, desperate to stay aboard this ship, and if manual labor needed to be done to earn him a right to stay, then so be it.

"No, we got three men for e'ery job aboard this ship. An' not enough food an' drink to support us all… let alone someone else. Now take off the shirt. An' stand up—slowly."

Beckett was crushed. He had absolutely no leverage in which to convince these men. Sighing quietly, he slipped the shirt off, handing it to one of the men, who snatched it up quickly. He then slowly made his way to his feet, keeping his head bowed. A chill went down his spine at what was to come. Certainly this time he wouldn't have the luck of running across yet another ship. He would drown in the middle of the ocean.

Beckett kept his head bowed, soon realizing that these two men dwarfed him in height. There just had to be a way to convince them to stay. One of the men pulled out a pistol, pushing it into Beckett's now bare chest.

"Wot's your name, boy?" one asked.

_Boy? I'm probably their age or older_, Beckett mused, scoffing internally. _But what _should_ I say is my name? If they know anything of the wanted posters and they hear me state my name as Cutler Beckett, they'll either kill me outright… or keep me imprisoned to turn me in to the authorities in Southampton. And yet, it's at least another two weeks to Southampton… I doubt they'd kill me now and deal with the stench of my rotting corpse for two weeks. This very well may be what keeps me aboard._

"I believe I asked ye a question. Spit it out or we'll make short work o' ye."

"My name… is Cutler Beckett."

The men did not bat an eye at the name. The man aiming his pistol at Beckett lowered it at his admission.

"Cutler Beckett, ye say? Definitely a Brit name," one said, walking around Beckett as if inspecting him. Suddenly the speaking man, seeing the crusty black shell of blood on Beckett's back, winced and raised his voice. "Ugh, wot happened to your shoulder?"

"The pirates," Beckett replied calmly, shocked that they had not recognized the name. Even so, he might be able to win pity for his battle scars. "They shot me, and then stabbed me. Part of their regime of torture."

"Well, you couldn't 'ave done that yourself; that's for certain. Rather nasty wound. I imagine it's right painful."

"No, it's quite pleasant, actually," Beckett sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes.

"Shut your mouth, insolent fool," one of the Scotsman dourly stated, glaring at the former lord and again aiming his pistol at Beckett's chest. "Now, you're goin' to be takin' a swim in any case. If you decide to fight it, you'll be swimmin' with one less limb; understand, boy?"

Beckett's jaw went slightly agape as he looked up at the men's stern expressions with confusion in his gaze. Did they not know about his being a wanted man?

* * *

"So the keeper of your heart is in that cave offshore?" Bootstrap asked his panting son, who was beginning to lift his aching body from the floor.

"Yes," Will replied.

"Send yer crew in to retrieve the heart, Will."

"He's in complete darkness. And I don't know how far back the cave goes into the hillside."

"No harm in tryin'."

Soon the humanized forms of Maccus, Koleniko, Palafico, Jimmylegs, Ogilvey, and Clanker had leapt off of the _Flying Dutchman_, racing for the rocky alcove that held their captain's heart. They lit torches from dried seaweed in their mad dash to secure their future with the faithful new captain of their ship.

Captain Turner and his father could only watch as a couple members of the crew realized that they were a bit too large to squeeze through the narrow corridor. However, four were able to enter the cave with no problem. The tide was slowly rising again, for the stream entering the rocky alcove was noticeably deeper.

Seconds turned into minutes as the two Turners watched one of the crew squeeze back out of the cave, looking to each side as if searching. This was unnecessary, being as two of the _Dutchman_'s larger members had been standing sentinel outside the entrance to the cave, and had not had to intercept any fleeing individuals.

Several more minutes passed as Will and his father sighed almost simultaneously at the sight of the remainder of the crew exiting the cave, coughing and hacking, a cloud of black following them.

Upon the crews' return to the _Dutchman_, Will approached them.

"He had to have escaped another way, obviously," he muttered, disappointment evident in his voice. "Could you not see any kind of crevice he could have gotten away through? He was a rather large man."

"He set a fire in the cave," Maccus said. "Not enough water in the cave to extinguish it. Seemed like every flame we put out, another would spring up in its place."

"It was difficult to breathe," Jimmylegs rasped.

"We're able to breathe _underwater!_" Bootstrap shot back with venom in his voice. "Now the heart is going to remain in constant danger. I hope yer happy that we'll all soon be fish again, bein' as we'll have to stay here until the captain's heart is safe."

* * *

Soon everyone was back aboard the _Black Pearl_, after each group made several trips to collect their appointed cargo. Jack approached Barbossa, who was standing astern, gazing off into the distance north of the Canary Islands. He could count on one hand all the ships that were moored in this particular harbour. And none of these ships were to fear. Most were some kind of Spanish pirate ship or small merchant vessel.

"How 'bout a night on th' town, bein' as there's no reason to deplete our newly acquired stores whilst floating right offshore," Jack recommended to Barbossa with a helpful smile.

At first, Barbossa narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but then all the tension in his face was relieved.

"'Course, Jack. Bein' as ye'd ne'er heard of the Canary Islands, mayhap they've not heard o' ye."

"Are you goin' to join us for th' festivities ashore?" Jack added. He knew he'd be forced to stay aboard the _Pearl_ if Barbossa elected to do so. There was no telling what schemes the older captain had planned.

Barbossa's leer faded into that of a smile.

"It does soun' enticin' to be off the ship, fer once," he muttered.

"Aye, that it does…."

"An' since we'll be stayin' here at least fer another day or so… it's been quite a while since I be partakin' in some womanly comp'ny."

"Aye, that it has…."

Barbossa turned to the shorter captain with an affronted glare.

"An' how would ye know that, Sparrow? Been spyin' on me, have ye?"

Jack sighed.

"Hector, as you an' I both well know, we have not set foot on land for even an hour for months. So it is only reasonable to assume that womanly company was not acquired in that short of a timeframe by you, bein' as it certainly hasn't been acquired by me."

Barbossa replied with a grunt, annoyed at the usage of his first name.

"Mate, we need to trust each other more," Jack added with a toothy smile. "Don' you grow weary of constantly bein' on edge?"

He was met with a glare from his formerly mutinous First Mate, then a softening of the older man's features.

"Aye, I be weary of it already."

"As _I_ have never sailed away wivout you, you have nothin' to fear from me. However, you, on th' other han—"

"Alright, Sparrow, we'll both go ashore fer the evenin'. An' if one of us should return before the other an' take off without the other, it is only appropriate then that the offender be shot the next time we cross paths, no questions asked."

He stuck out his bony hand for Jack to shake.

"So do we have an' accord, Jack?"

Jack extended his own hand, grateful for what seemed to be an agreement on trusting the other. Not that he would ever in actuality trust Barbossa again. But it was a start… if Barbossa kept his word, of course.

* * *

The pistol aimed unwaveringly at Beckett as he stood silently shocked in front of the men who hadn't recognized his name as being that of a wanted man.

"Go on, then," one man gestured to the shirtless stowaway in front of him. "Up the ladder with ye. We're not havin' no new men aboard, wounded or no."

"I presume you'd take a woman aboard then," Beckett replied.

"You'll never know that, 'cause in a few minutes' time, you'll be out playin' with your fish friends again."

When Beckett hesitated to move, he could sense the gun-wielding man moving behind him, prodding him with the barrel of the pistol.

"Get a move on. We'd rather not shed blood in our hold, but if it needs to be done—"

Beckett grew desperate.

"Do you know who I am?"

"We heard ye the firs' time ye said it, ye fool. Cutler Beckett."

"Do you not recognize the name?"

"You're just a nobody stowaway. Get up the ladder or I'll put a bullet up your arse."

Beckett moved quickly up the ladder, for he didn't wish for the man's threat to come true. The two Scotsmen watched him ascending the ladder from the deck below.

"Wot's your problem, Wilson?" the Scotsman murmured to his cursing friend, a bit surprised by his crewmate's rage towards this stowaway. Wilson, features softening a bit, whispered back to his fellow crewmate.

"Me brother, rest 'is soul, was one of the first Royal Navy men killed by the pirates when that cursed _Black Pearl_ sank his ship years ago. I don' want the likes o' _anyone_ connected with that evil ship aboard this ship, if it's the las' thing I e'er do."

"I don' blame you, then."

Sighing and rolling his eyes in disgust, Beckett slowly made his way up the ladder, followed by the two Scotsmen. He was prodded to climb a couple more ladders, until he was on main deck. The Scotsmen led him over to the gunwale.

"There is a reward for my capture," Beckett suddenly blurted. Other men on deck heard this as well and looked over at the short shirtless man.

"What?"

"Twenty-five thousand pounds," he stated matter-of-factly, almost cracking a smile of pride, yet deciding against it.

"Ha! For what?"

"For failing to command my fleet against the pirates leading to the death of more than a hundred of my employees." He of course left out the part about being accused of being sympathetic to pirates.

"Employees?"

"I was the lord of the East India Trading Company."

"If that's so, then that's Cutler Beckett!" an Irishman shouted. "He's that pirate-lover! Killed East India Tradin' Company men an' Royal Navy men alike!"

Beckett almost breathed a sigh of relief, but mention of his supposed loyalty to the pirates disgusted him once more. He spoke up, his voice monotone and calm.

"Now, those accusations I must deny. I was captured by the pirates after being flung from my ship, and have been in their company since then, tortured and imprisoned all the while. I do not understand why they rescued me, but I assure you that I am not allied with them."

"Wot does it matter anyway? Twenty-five thousand pounds," a Scotsman muttered.

"Grab 'im! We can collect our reward money for 'im in Southampton."

Within moments, Beckett was spun around so that he faced the gunwale, and his arms were yanked behind his back and shackled together. He couldn't help but smirk a bit, knowing that he had been saved from drowning.

Soon Beckett was brought down to the hold, being as this ship did not have a brig, and was shackled to the infrastructure of the hull. The position in which he had been shackled allowed him to sit on the floor of the brig with hands restrained behind him which was as uncomfortable as hell; even so, he was alive and was going to Southampton, a thought that greatly satisfied him.

* * *

Meanwhile, on Pico Island, Jack, Joana, Elizabeth, and Gibbs nestled into a dimly lit cubbyhole of a rundown tavern called the _Bloody Rat_, one of the few establishments they and their crew had not ransacked and robbed earlier that day. Barbossa sat with Pintel, Ragetti and a rather wanton-looking woman, clutching the woman to his side with an arm placed about her corseted waist. Other members of the crew were scattered about the tavern, chugging bottles of grog and voraciously tearing into their scanty meals. Barbossa had insisted that they not spend too much money here, for as much of the meager booty he had acquired earlier as possible needed to be set aside in case they were forced to make an honest purchase of sorely needed weaponry in Constantinople.

Father watched daughter chewing slowly on a slice of bread, puzzled at how such a skinny individual couldn't be utterly famished at this point. It deeply troubled Joana that Elizabeth would lie to her father. _Beckett's the enemy, and Elizabeth is hiding her relationship with him. Are the two of them planning ill will on the pirates? Anything's possible, really. Elizabeth has no real bond with the pirates—and Beckett wants to wipe them off the face of the earth. _

It was when Joana pushed the slice of bread away, only half-eaten, that Jack became concerned enough to speak his feelings on the matter.

"Luv, are ye goin' to eat that?" Jack asked her, indicating the half-eaten food.

"No. Would you like to have it?" she replied, pushing the plate towards him.

"Of course not. It merely occurred to me that you could use a little extra meat on your bones—because our arrival in Constantinople, followed by freedom sailin' about th' world as we please an' takin' wot we want when we want it is still a couple of weeks away, an' so ye should fill up while ye can."

Jack was now a bit leery of this strange young curly-haired Portuguese woman in front of him, this woman who had sworn that Elizabeth was with Beckett's child. However, being as he did not know her even though she _was_ his blood, he trusted Elizabeth's word by default. Even though _Elizabeth's_ intentions were not always honourable, and _she_ had used his feelings for her to lure him to his own death. So Elizabeth was not trustworthy either. But then, why would Joana have made up the premise of Beckett and Elizabeth kissing if it wasn't based on fact? He sorely needed to talk to his daughter, but not tonight.

Conversation came and went as the hours passed. Eventually nightfall came, and many of the pirates went back to the ship.

"An' wot of you, Joana?" Jack asked his daughter, who had barely eaten or drank anything all day. She frowned over at Barbossa, his arm tightly around a scantily-clad wench. Her frown traveled over Elizabeth. Obviously she couldn't discuss things with her father yet.

"I'm rather tired. I think I will go back to the ship for the night."

Jack could barely hide his smile at the thought of the impending possibility that he might be able to have some womanly company.

"Goodnight then, luv."

Jack watched Joana stroll with Marty, Cotton, and Ragetti back to the _Black Pearl_. He trusted that group of men well enough to remain respectful with his daughter during the short walk back to the harbour.

The dreadlocked pirate ambled towards the door of the tavern, a full new brown bottle of rum in hand, where Barbossa was leaning against the doorjamb with a woman now most certainly established in Jack's mind as a prostitute. _No woman in her right mind would linger around Barbossa for that long unless she was bein' paid_, he mused, watching the buxom brunette giggle faintly as Barbossa whispered into her ear.

"So Barbossa," he said to the taller captain, whose face peered up from its new position lingering above the woman's ample cleavage. Barbossa shot him a look of distaste at the unwelcome interruption. Jack uncorked the bottle and guzzled some of the alcohol as he waited for a response.

"What be th' problem, Sparrow?"

"Remember our agreement, mate," Jack muttered, though not loudly enough for the prostitute to hear him.

"'Course," the taller captain said with a showing of rotten teeth. He had been planning to stay ashore for the night, being as his cabin was cramped and small enough that his quarters would not impress this woman. Not that she really needed to be impressed, but, well, he was a bit ashamed of his secondary status on a ship that he co-captained. However, he knew of a surefire way to keep Jack ashore for the night, if not until the following morning, in case he should decide to leave him behind.

"What kinda rum be this?" Barbossa exclaimed, snatching the open bottle from Jack and holding it up to the light. He ran his fingers swiftly along the neck of the bottle as he watched the shorter pirate captain look back at Elizabeth briefly.

"Why do you ask? Does somethin' seem wrong wiv it?" Jack asked, upon returning his gaze to the bottle.

"No, I was jus' thrown by the colour o' the bottle," Barbossa replied, thrusting the bottle back into Jack's chest. "Enjoy yer night on the town, ol' chum. I know I will." He finished his statement with a knowing wink.

Once Jack and Elizabeth had exited the tavern and begin strolling down the dimly lit cobblestone streets, he turned to her.

"Wot are your plans for the evenin', luv?"

"I'm too excited to go to sleep yet," she replied. "It's been so long since I've been able to remain on land for any length of time."

Jack was half-irritated and half-relieved. On the one hand, he was extremely sex-starved by this point, and had wanted the company of a willing woman. On the other hand, he was going to spend the evening with Elizabeth. Perhaps something could come of that. Perhaps.

Soon the pair was nestled in a cozy corner of a cellar-like tavern. Jack had carried a large bottle of rum with him from the last establishment and began guzzling it down immediately, but stopped at Elizabeth's gaze of envy.

"Wot is it, Lizzie?" he asked the woman beside him.

"I'd like some of that," she said, indicating the bottle. Truth to tell, she wanted to lose some control and allow herself to have more fun than she had been having as of late. Her future seemed bleak unless she granted herself a good time occasionally.

A hint of intimidation in his eyes, Jack passed the bottle to his young female companion. She tilted the heavy container up to her lips and ended up drinking more than half of the bottle.

Within a half-hour, and four bottles of rum into the night, both Jack and Elizabeth were drunk. Their conversation had steered into the realm of strange.

"You know, Jack," Elizabeth murmured in a low voice, "your eyes look almost black in this light."

In the loss of all inhibition, Elizabeth's latent attraction to Jack was now exposed—and there was nothing she could do to ignore it. Her mind didn't even think first in her state of intoxication—she simply said and did what instinct told her to do.

"Really, luv," he murmured huskily. "An' why do you think that is?"

"I think it's because the middle of your eye is very large right now," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear.

"Amongst other things," Jack muttered under his breath.

"What other things?" she said in an innocent tone, the slurring of her words betraying the naivety of her question.

"Nothin' to worry, luv," he replied, realizing how intoxicated she was. Even more so than himself. Even if she had been faking drunkenness on the island they had been marooned on for a night by Barbossa, she most _certainly_ wasn't faking it now.

Suddenly he felt her fingertips running along his thigh, the warmth of her palm resting rather high up on his leg under the table. Chuckling nervously, he removed her hand from its position.

"Mayhap we should order you some water," he told her.

"Never mind that, Jack," she whispered, her hot breath upon his ear. Causing all sorts of inappropriate sensations. Her hand again found its position on his thigh, moving slowly upwards towards—

Jack stood up immediately, and then, realizing he was now revealing an obvious problem with which Elizabeth was now at least vaguely familiar – that is, unless the whelp truly was a eunuch — sat back down with a sigh.

"Would you like me to take you back to th' _Pearl_?" he offered, giving her a gentle smile.

"I'd rather you just take _me_," she replied, licking her lips and moving towards him again.

_Oh goodness. How did this come about?_ Jack mused, his mind in a state of panic. He scooted around the other side of the table as she followed him, laughing with such abandon that his senses begged him to just follow her wishes.

Jack held an empty rum bottle in a key area as he stood up, watching Elizabeth in turn stumble to a standing position by the table. He saw that the barmaid was staring at him with incredulity in her eyes. It didn't make sense for a pirate to refuse a beautiful woman, drunk or no.

"Is that more rum for us?" Elizabeth asked, making a move for the bottle. He jerked it away from her, revealing his big problem. Of course Elizabeth noticed it immediately, even before he could reposition the bottle again.

"Jaa-aack," she said in a singsong voice, "I know you feel the same way as I do right now. I can even _see_ your inter—"

"We should be gettin' back to th' _Pearl_… savvy?" he replied curtly, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her away from the table. "Time an' tide, luv."

He pulled her up a short set of stairs to a branching point in front of the door. Up another flight of stairs to their left was the inn above the tavern, and to their right was the front door leading to the street.

Elizabeth grabbed onto the railing of the stairs, tugging Jack towards the inn.

"I've got me cabin, luv; no need for an inn," he told her, glancing up towards the doors of the inn's rooms.

"I'd rather no one else hear us," she replied, placing her hand over Jack's hand that was gripping with rum bottle with white knuckles. Her other hand, still enclosed within Jack's hand, pulled him towards the staircase.

She directed Jack's hand to touch her hip, trailing it closer and closer to a region that drove him closer and closer towards abandoning the prospect of being respectful.

When he refused to budge from his position, her face turned into a pout.

"Why don't you want me anymore? I'm certain that you used to…."

Jack gaped over at her, his mind an utter blank from the multitude of thoughts trying to scramble their way through his drunken brain. This was unreal, Elizabeth bloody Swann—errr, Turner—coming on to him so boldly, so brazenly, so quickly….

"I do, Lizzie; but that's not th' point. You are, for all intents an' purposes, a married woman," he replied curtly. This, of course, was not the real reason—it just seemed very strange to him that she had suddenly switched into this sexual mode, and that it couldn't be very honourable why she had chosen to do so. After all, the last time she had done something spur-of-the-moment to him, he had ended up dead.

"It is there you are mistaken, Jack," she said in highly slurred fashion, touching the tip of his nose with a shaky index finger. "In fact, I am a widow."

All colour left Jack's face as he watched Elizabeth Turner for signs of any other emotion that might be hiding in her eyes waiting to proclaim her undying love for the whelp Turner. But the signs did not come.

"Are you certain about this now, Lizzie?" Jack stated carefully, eyes wide, watching her for any remainder of loyalty to Will. _She's certainly sayin' th' right things to lure me to bed—not that I usually need to be lured, of course…_. He gave her one last chance to renege. "Is this wot you want, or is this jus' th' rum talkin'?"

"Rum can't talk, silly," she replied. "But yes, I am certain about this, Jack."

"You're not plannin' on shacklin' me to th' bed an' leavin' me for dead, are ye?"

She planted a playful slap on his cheek, leaning in tantalizingly close to his shocked face.

"Do I look like I could take advantage of you like that?" she whispered, her breath hot on his skin.

The mild tingling of Jack's cheek was certainly not causing its intended effect. Rather, he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and take her immediately upstairs, where he would then simply take her…

Jack finally found his voice.

"No, but you certainly did bef—"

The newfound presence of Elizabeth's lips on his own silenced Jack immediately, as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to his body. Once the kiss was broken, he was then able to speak again in the midst of raging emotion running rampant in his head.

"Oh, bugger, Lizzie," he responded with a grunt, keeping his arms wrapped around her. "You've no idea wot you do to me."

She was gazing deeply into her eyes, her lips lingering teasingly close to his. A pale hand reached out, its fingers stroking the meager stubble on his cheek.

"Show me, then."

* * *

How'd you like my first attempt at Sparrabeth?

_Preview:_

"Surely I can be of more use to ye livin' than dead," Barbossa said to Jack.

"No, actually," the dreadlocked captain curtly replied.

Would ye like to _review_? I daresay I rather hope so….


	10. The Upper Hand

Hello, if I haven't yet replied to your review yet, don't fret! I was crazy busy this week with a final and I wanted to post this chapter before all interest wanes. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 10 – The Upper Hand

* * *

_Oh God, _Jack mused._ Should I take advantage of Lizzie in such a state? She may hate me in th' mornin'… Or may never speak to me due to shame or guilt or anger or feelin's of betrayal an' wotnot only familiar to th' minds of womankind. But I'm a pirate. An infamous pirate, terror of the Caribbean. Take wot yet can, an' give nothin' back, we all say. I should be grantin' her th' greatest thrills of her life at this moment—yet, instead, _most_ of my body, at least, is holdin' back. Wot to do, wot to do…._

Without another thought, he slipped an arm below Elizabeth's backside, the other arm cradling her back, and lifted her off her feet, cradling her in his arms. Still in a bit of a daze over what had been said, he made his way up the stairs, carrying Elizabeth all the while.

_I cannot bloody believe this_, he mused, watching her gaze seductively at him, licking her lips as she gently stroked his cheek with the back of a hand. _Did th' whelp teach her all this?_ _If so, I have more respect for 'im. Even though I'll soon be sleepin' wiv his wife…._

Once Jack had reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Elizabeth's hand dropped from his face. He glanced subtly down at her to see that her eyes were closed.

"Lizzie, you awake?"

She didn't respond. He shook her about in his arms but she did not stir. His night with her was suddenly made clear. This was where it would end.

"Jus' wot I thought," he muttered bitterly, feeling the excitation that had begun in his loins fade as soon as it had appeared. "It _was_ th' rum talkin', after all. Should've known better than to assume she'd start a pursuit, wot wiv her carryin' th' whelp's child."

He repositioned Elizabeth's body so that she was now draped over his shoulder. Staggering ever so slightly under the new weight, Jack staggered back down the stairs and ducked out of the building into the abandoned moonlit streets on his way back to the _Black Pearl_.

Once Jack and Elizabeth had returned to the _Black Pearl_, he entered her cabin and set her down carefully on her bed. It was then that she awoke, glancing up at him through heavily-lidded eyes.

"Stay with me, Jack."

He sat down on the bed beside her lying form. Suddenly it was possible that his night could again be interesting. But her look was not seductive. It was one of fright perhaps; of need.

"Just—please stay here. Please."

"Are you certain?" he said, tenderly running a finger along her sweaty forehead.

"Yes, Jack. I need you."

"Alright, luv. Wotever you say. But don' say I didn' warn you."

She closed her eyes, remaining sprawled across the bed. He tucked his hands under her armpits and shifted her to a side of the bed, pulling her blanket out from under her body and using them to cover her up to her chin. Jack observed Elizabeth carefully as he slipped his bandanna, waistcoat, shirt and boots off and slid silently into bed next to her.

Oddly enough, a wave of relief washed over him as he lie in Elizabeth's bed next to her peacefully sleeping form, watching the blankets covering her chest rise and fall with each breath she took.

_It was better that I did wot I did_, he mused. _Wouldn't be very thrillin' makin' it wiv an unconscious thing…I suppose. Mayhap th' time will come when it will require no rum for her to reveal her true intentions, wotever they may be. A hard one to figure out, she is..._

* * *

Beckett's first evening shackled to the hull of the merchant vessel was miserable. Firstly, his arms had all but completely fallen asleep and were currently tingling painfully. Secondly, no one had brought him a drop of food or drink.

_Why couldn't I have just stayed hidden_, he mused, desperately trying to shake his arms awake again. _Do I have no control over my hunger and thirst? If I had simply stayed hidden in that corner, I'd be just as miserable, but I least I wouldn't be restrained. Now I have the additional issue of escaping from these shackles once we arrive in Southampton. I certainly can't address redemption when being brought in by men wanting reward. And how much do they know of my state needed for collecting the reward? If they realize that I can be brought in dead, they may very well kill me before we arrive in Southampton._

That night, a crewmate entered the hold, a young Irishman only about the age of seventeen or so, not much more than a cabin boy.

"Sir," Beckett said, feeling ill at having to address this person so. The Irishman was obviously flattered and looked over at the shackled prisoner.

"Yes?"

"Is it possible that I can have a drop of water? I'm quite parched," he told the man.

"Certainly."

A cup was brought over and the man held it to Beckett's lips, letting him drink the refreshment.

Beckett as of yet was not needful of a visit to the restroom, but he would be by early the next day. And there was the issue of the nerves in his arms tingling annoyingly. Perhaps he shouldn't push his luck yet….

"Thank you, Sir," Beckett murmured, his mouth no longer unbearably dry.

"You are welcome. I trust that you do not need to use the facilities?"

"Actually," Beckett said with an internal smile, "I was rather hoping to do so… in a civil fashion."

The young Irishman left quickly to fetch the keys for Beckett, and soon returned with the keys—as well as a pistol. As he stood behind Beckett and unshackled him, he held the pistol under an arm. Soon Beckett was standing, his arms finally free. Thankful for the break, Beckett shook his arms about until the numbness and tingling had subsided.

"What are ye doin'?" the Irishman asked.

"Having my arms behind me is quite dreadful. Both of my arms were tingling quite painfully."

He proceeded to use the facilities (a port hole) whilst being aimed at with the Irishman's pistol, and then turned around to face the boy. He already had the shackles ready to go.

"Sir, may I request that you shackle my hands in front of me, rather than behind." And with that, he boldly walked up to the Irishman, holding his hands out in front of him to be shackled. "I'm unable to escape either way. I will give you no trouble."

The power of being addressed as _Sir_ was certainly influencing the Irishman's actions. The boy looked down at Beckett's hands held out to him, remaining perfectly still. If he refused to shackle Beckett's hands in the front, he might attempt to wrest away, and then it would become apparent to all that he had been freed in the first place. He'd probably never sail with them again.

"Alright."

And for the first time since being discovered by the ship's crew, Beckett was able to smile unabashedly in the inky black darkness of the ship's hold, sitting with arms shackled in front of him, leaning up against a barrel.

* * *

The next morning Elizabeth awoke to a pounding headache and the rumblings of nausea. She sat up swiftly in bed, her eyes adjusting to the light that had made its way underneath the door to her cabin.

_How did I end up here,_ she mused. _All I remember last night is leaving the first tavern with Jack and settling down in a second tavern later on that evening. I don't remember returning to the ship._

She soon came to the realization that she was wearing the same clothing she had worn the night before, indicating that she had not bothered to change into her nightclothes. This fact frightened her… but not nearly as much as the dreadlocks spread out over the pillow next to her.

"Oh no," she whispered aloud to herself. _What have I done? Oh, God, I don't even remember what happened._

"Jack," she said aloud. The body next to her did not stir. She tapped the figure on its back, over the blankets that hid the person's identity—though it was obvious from the dreadlocks that this was the _Pearl_'s captain.

Jack rolled over so as to face his bedmate, lips smacking quietly as his kohl-lined eyes opened to the sight of Elizabeth staring at him disapprovingly, blankets pulled up to her chest.

"Wot's wrong, luv?" he said, his voice gravelly.

"I think you know very well what's wrong," she replied.

He blinked indignantly.

"No, in fact I do not."

"How did I end up here? More importantly, how did _you_ end up here?"

Jack sighed with exasperation, which greatly irked her.

"So you remember nothin' of last night," he stated slowly.

Panic rose in her throat.

"I only remember leaving the first tavern and settling down into the second tavern," she replied. "After that it's just a blank."

"Bugger, I should have figured," he muttered.

"What did we do, Jack? Did we—" She could not speak anymore, instead looking at the bed.

"No, that we did not."

"Then why are you here?"

_Bloody hell, the nerve of some women_, he mused. _Th' most well-born of 'em tend to feel th' guiltiest th' next mornin'._

"You drank a bit too much an' passed out for a spell." _Understatement of the century_, he thought bitterly. "I brought you back here, set you down in your own bed, an' you woke up for a moment an' asked me to stay. So here I am."

"Is that all?" she said, studying his expression carefully with eyes narrowed. Paranoia overcame her. Had she said anything damning?

"You did kiss me—once—but that was it. Then you fainted. Can't say I blame you, after kissing th' lips of th' most famous pirate lover there ever w—"

Her face paled several shades as her mouth went agape.

"What did I say, Jack? Did I _say_ anything inappropriate leading up to that?"

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't find the words. She saw the answer she dreaded in his eyes.

"Oh, Jack, I am so sorry for anything foolish I may have said to you." Her headache was throbbing now, certainly not aided by her newfound craving to break down in tears.

"Actually, I rather enjoyed th' things you said," he replied, slightly relishing the fact that Elizabeth was now blushing.

"Do I want to know what I said?" she asked him.

"No. That you do not. Unless, of course, you in all actuality possess th' fundamental feelin's beneath wot all that was said an' have been dyin' for a way to express them all to me, which was accomplished quite splendidly last night, if I may state quite plainly."

"Oh my God."

He propped a fist under his chin, gazing intensely at her.

"Step one has been accomplished, Lizzie. Th' ice has been broken. There needn't be any—awkwardness between us."

"You know _very_ well that I—" she began in a harsh voice, but watching his expression change from excitement to annoyance made her stop mid-sentence. Instead, she sighed loudly with a downward scoot of her body, allowing her head to fall once again on the pillow.

"Are you telling the truth when you say nothing happened—besides the kiss," Elizabeth said with a sigh, glancing only briefly at Jack's face in its close proximity. "Oh, I feel ill," she added, clutching her stomach.

"I swear, on pain of death, that nothin' else occurred between us," he stated, looking back at her gravely.

He watched the expression of relief wash over her features, and felt a bit insulted.

"Am I _that_ repulsive to you? I must tell you; I can vouch for the _hundreds_ o' satisfied women I've… satisfied, that I can bring about the greatest pleasure one has ever—"

"You're not repulsive, Jack. But you _are_ a good man, no matter what you claim to the contrary." Elizabeth leaned in, planting a kiss on his cheek, and then turned back over to face away from him. He said no more, only shifting his body so he was lying on his back, flashing her one last fleeting glance before deciding to sleep in a bit longer.

He hated to hear Elizabeth speak those words, but yet he couldn't deny that what she had said was true.

* * *

"Maybe I should send the crew out into England to find the heart," Will said to his father, staring idly at his stiff pinkie fingers, which seemed to be calcifying in some way.

"It'd be like findin' a needle in a haystack. Ye need to wait until the heart aches ye again, and then send yer crew after 'im."

"Well, what should we do until then?"

"I think we should linger close by, yet not make ourselves as apparent to the livin'," Bootstrap offered.

Will noticed the trace of a seashell appearing along his father's hairline.

"To the depths then, for the time being?" Will suggested, swallowing hard. "Mayhap it will keep us human for longer."

"Aye, son. To the depths."

* * *

An hour later, Jack found himself being jarred about in bed, much like the heaves and dips of a steadily advancing ship on the water. _But at this point we are still supposed to be in the harbour_, he mused, feeling instant alarm.

Staying absolutely silent, he crept out of bed, being careful not to awaken the still-unconscious Elizabeth. He pulled a slice of ginger root from his pocket and placed it on the table beside her bed. _Good thing I carry such an antidote about for th' followin' mornin' after a night o' drinkin'_, he mused, slipping his shirt, waistcoat, and boots back on.

Jack made his way onto the gun deck, seeing sunlight streaming through the gun ports. He snuck over to a larboard gun port and noticed the ocean moving astern.

_Bloody hell, we've already left. How did this come about?_

He backed away from the gun port quickly, continuing to gaze out at the moving waves beneath the traveling ship—backing into a stunned Barbossa.

"Sparrow!?—what are ye doin' here—I mean, where've ye been all this mornin'?"

"Obviously not where you expected to find me. You tried to leave me behind, ye yellow scurvy-ridden weasel." Glaring at the taller captain, he unsheathed a dagger from his side. "An' now you have elected to be killed, wiv no questions asked, per our agreement."

He pointed the dagger at Barbossa's throat, watching Barbossa's lack of response.

"Jack, we agreed to the offender bein' shot, not stabbed. An' I happen to know ye lack the implement to carry out yer side of the agreement. So yer side of the agreement is thus forfeited. On the other han'," he added, brandishing his pistol and cocking it, "I happen to possess jus' what ye lack."

It was then that Barbossa's eyes went wide, and he fell to his knees with a resounding thud, having been knocked out cold. His feathered hat flew off his head, fluttering several feet away, and his pistol dropped from his frozen fingers, clattering noisily to the floor below.

Gibbs appeared behind the fallen captain, a bottle of rum in hand, as he glared downwards, obviously enraged at the man.

"An' that's fer yer never-endin' treachery!" he shouted down at Barbossa's still figure, the older captain's eyes affixed open in an eerie fashion.

"You saved my life, Mr. Gibbs," Jack said to his First Mate. The bearded pirate seemed to jump a foot in the air.

"Jack?"

"Wot's wrong wiv you? I thought you hit him so as to prevent him from offin' me. You needn't act so surprised to see me, mate. Your humility has been noted."

"I'd no idea ye be here. I'd figured he'd left ye behind. He was already goin' about sayin' ye ran into some trouble with the law an' had to be left behind to save the rest of us. I didn' believe 'im fer a second. He even tried to get me to leave ship. Had an awfully strange night, courtesy of him. Didn' know how he did it 'til this mornin', though."

"Why, wot did he do."

"The bastard slipped some Spanish fly into my rum," he replied, giving the still body on the ground a little kick. "Explains the _urges_ I be havin'. Foun' the powder in a folded handkerchief. An' as ye know, only he carries handkerchiefs aroun'."

Jack's jaw dropped.

"Ah, so he got ye as well," Gibbs said, reading his friend's response. "Prob'ly wanted us to stay ashore, up all night busy with whores, while he set sail in the meantime."

"Elizabeth," Jack muttered, eyes distant.

"Aye, where be Elizabeth? I haven't seen her as of yet today. Ye don' mean to tell me Barbossa had her left behind, do ye? We can always turn back, Jack; don' worry."

"No, it's not that; she made it aboard," the dreadlocked captain replied. "It's just—she acted quite unlike herself last night… an' now I recall that it was _she_ who swigged down half of th' bottle that Barbossa snatched out of me hands earlier in th' evenin'. An' let me tell you, she is quite a force to be reckoned wiv when she's randy."

"Did you two—"

"No."

Jack didn't know what else to say. Instead, both of the men looked down at Barbossa, who was beginning to come to. Though his expression remained tranquil, Jack gave his downed co-captain a swift kick to the stomach.

Barbossa let out a loud groan and tried to move away, but he knew he was surrounded. He simply sat up from his position on the floor, staying silent, legs crossed Indian-style. Gibbs aimed his gun at the back of Barbossa's head, the barrel positioned against Barbossa's sky-blue bandanna.

Jack stood above the seated captain, his kohl-lined eyes in their narrowed state looking rather ominous. He spoke to his mutinous former First Mate.

"Give me one good reason why Gibbs shouldn't cause th' immediate an' irreversible fragmentation of your puny peanut of a brain into th' vicinity of my ship."

"Jack," the older captain began.

"Aye, that's my name, but it's not a valid reason," Jack immediately replied.

"I wasn't finished," Barbossa spat, rolling his eyes in irritation.

"Oi, did you hear somethin', Gibbs? I think it was the bloody Spanish _fly_ buzzing aroun' our heads. No matter—"

"Gents, 'twas a simple joke, the Spanish fly," Barbossa stated in a croaky voice. "I refuse to be thanked fer yer everlastin' libidos, by the way."

Jack glanced over at Gibbs.

"Alright, Gibbs, I've heard his case an' it is not convin—"

"Wait, Jack—what is it ye want from me?" Barbossa asked, raising his eyes to look up at the other captain.

"I'd say your next state of bein' is rather clear," Jack replied. "That bein' in Davy—ehem, Will _Turner_'s Locker, searchin' for peanuts in th' sand wiv a slew of white stones."

"What?" Barbossa asked, confused.

Jack looked up at Gibbs, which was not lost on Barbossa.

"Surely I can be of more use to ye livin' than dead," Barbossa said to Jack.

"No, actually."

"Ye'll have full captaincy again, Jack. An' Mr. Gibbs, the possession of yer cabin. What more could ye want?"

"Actually we could acquire that wiv your death jus' as easily. In fact, your death would make those realities become—reality—wiv even _less_ fuss. Aye, I think it simpler to just do away wiv you. Gibbs, you may commence—"

Barbossa immediately threw his head forward towards the ground as low as his lanky body would allow in the same instant that Gibbs pulled the trigger.

The gunshot rang out as Barbossa heard the ball whiz over the top of his ducked head, followed by Jack's sinking to the ground, the ball having lodged itself in his thigh.

"Jack!" Gibbs exclaimed, moving quickly towards his captain. In the meantime, Barbossa noticed his pistol lying off to the side and snatched it up as Jack sank to his knees, then back onto his rump, blood seeping from the fresh wound.

In Gibbs' rush to attend to his fallen captain, Barbossa stole away to his cabin, locking himself in for the time being. _Where _had_ Jack hidden himself? I'd checked everywhere fer 'im before settin' sail—everywhere save fer Elizabeth's cabin. Hmm, interestin'… e'en more reason to rid the _Pearl_ of him, foolin' aroun' with our _Dutchman_'s bride…._

* * *

The next morning Lieutenant Morgan and the admiral of the Royal Navy met in a long dining hall in the admiral's home. The room was quite spacious and splendid, with a large maroon oriental rug decorating the wooden floor, rich curtains in every ceiling-height window, a golden chandelier adorned with countless candles, a roaring fireplace at one end and a double door at the other end.

Lieutenant Thomas Morgan lowered himself to his knees to place at his feet the small chest he had been cradling in his arms, following up this deposit with a smart salute to his commanding officer, Admiral Kensington of the Royal Navy.

The admiral returned this formal greeting, and then dispensed with the other formalities by approaching the infamous chest.

"Is that the—Dead Man's Chest?" the chubby old admiral asked Morgan. "I have been told by many that its cargo is all that is needed to control the seas."

"Yes, Sir," Morgan stated.

The admiral attempted to lower himself to a squatting position in front of the chest, but his old joints wouldn't allow him.

"I trust the trip back was uneventful. No sign of pirates."

"Yes, Sir."

"If this is truly the Dead Man's Chest you have with you—it is invaluable to the entirety of the civilized world!"

"Yes."

"That's truly splendid. It was rather disheartening to learn of its possession by the East India Trading Company some time ago."

"Well, Sir, it is now ours. And in bringing you this invaluable item, I request to be promoted to the rank of Vice-Admiral—"

"If this is indeed the Dead Man's Chest you certainly will have earned the position. Between you and me, the current Vice-Admiral and I do not get along in the least."

Morgan flashed the admiral a smile, pulling out the papers for promotion.

"You will not be disappointed, Sir."

He held out the papers to the admiral, who shook his head. Feeling an internal scoff coming on, Morgan laid the papers and a quill on the table in front of the admiral.

"In due time, Morgan," the admiral stated with a jolly tone. "I'd like to hear this for myself."

The lieutenant's eyes widened as Kensington lifted the chest by its gleaming handles to his ear, the old man focused completely on leaning his head against the chest to hear the sound.

"So... it is true, what they say," the admiral muttered seemingly to himself, his wrinkled face as white as a ghost's, yet cheeks strangely pink.

"Please sign this, Sir," Morgan stated, indicating the papers.

"Very well. You've been in the Royal Navy for quite a few years now and this discovery will have catapulted you to this high ranking."

The admiral, face ever paling, held the chest greedily up under the crook of his arm, signing the papers with his free hand. Once the papers had been signed, he held the chest for a minute longer, his eyes focused on possession of the living contents, unexpectedly finding it difficult to breathe.

All of a sudden, the Dead Man's Chest clattered to the ground, round droplets of metallic sheen splattering off in various directions as the admiral clutched his own chest, sinking to his knees. A series of alarming tightening sensations radiated across the admiral's chest as his heart rate increased by leaps and bounds—followed by excruciating pain that restricted his very ability to breathe.

Admiral Kensington's eyes, already dimming from a lack of oxygen to his system, registered the form of Morgan squatting down by his side—and then nothing but blackness. Kensington was dead.

* * *

"Make haste, men. The admiral has collapsed."

Morgan reentered the meeting room with five officers of the Royal Navy, who immediately sprinted over to their fallen commanding officer. Upon seeing his lifeless form sprawled out onto the ground, they stared up at Morgan in alarm.

"What happened? What did he say?" they insisted, talking all at once but asking the same couple of questions.

"Once the admiral realized the contents of this chest, he suddenly froze, dropping the chest to the ground. I knew something had to be wrong, for him to drop such a precious item. Before I could find out why he dropped the chest, he then clutched at his own chest, and collapsed onto the floor. I hadn't even had a chance to thank him for the promotion he had awarded me."

"What promotion?"

Morgan cradled the chest in his arms as he spoke to the officers. He held out the signed papers indicating his promotion.

"From what I have found and its implications for the Royal Navy in its control of sea affairs, he promoted me to the rank of Vice-Admiral."

"The Vice-Admiral assumes the rank of Admiral at the Admiral's retirement or death," one of the Royal Navy men stated in a monotone of disbelief.

"You're the admiral now?!" another said in a roar of confusion. "But Vice-Admiral Dollanger—"

"I suppose _Morgan_ is to move into that ranking now, being that Admiral Kensington…"

Morgan interrupted the man with a slight lifting of his arms that were supporting the chest from beneath.

"Gentlemen, behold the Dead Man's Chest."

The men looked skeptical, glancing at the chest and the tentacle design on each of its panels, its handles reflecting a perfect, yet strangely liquid glimmer. It only made sense that the Dead Man's Chest looked so unearthly.

"Place your ear upon this panel of the chest, to best hear the sound," Morgan said, nodding his head at the chest to indicate the spot. "Do _not _touch the chest otherwise. The less the human contact, the more responsive the item inside will be to the application of an ear to this panel in particular. No one understands exactly why this is."

Each of the men in turn listened to the heartbeat echoing within the confines of the chest. Upon observation of their pale, drawn faces and resounding silence, Morgan curtly requested that they remove the admiral's body from the room to prepare it for a proper burial. The men were still in shock from the revelation of the chest—and quietly did as told, soon leaving the room.

Once the body was removed, Morgan extracted a wad of handkerchiefs from his coat and wiped the handles of the chest clean of the liquid with which he had previously coated them. A substance that gleamed like molten metal, yet which remained perpetually liquid. It had taken many broken thermometers to collect enough mercury for this purpose.

Admiral Morgan sat in the cushiony chair once occupied by Admiral Kensington. He glanced over at the chest, a smile crossing his lips.

_Now all I need to do is find the key, _he mused, staring into the roaring fireplace. _Once I am able to hold the heart in my hands, I will have supreme influence over the sea._

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late update, but I couldn't find a good place to end the chapter. Hope you liked it! Thanks for following along!

Preview for chapter 11:

Elizabeth was unabashedly sobbing now, her eyes shut tightly as tears streamed from them.

"No. I'm being punished. I'm being punished for my sins, I just know it."

Jack's breath caught in his throat.

"Wot do you mean?"


	11. Merry Murder II

A/N: Ahh, thank you very kindly, reviewers! I will reply to you very shortly, if not when I post this chapter. I hope that you enjoy it and I'm sorry for the wait.

* * *

Chapter 11: _Merry Murder _II

* * *

Panic rose in Joana's throat at the sound of the gunshot. Who would have fired a pistol at this point in time? There were no other ships around and no reason to use the precious remnants of their firepower. Sprinting out of her father's cabin, she took the steps of the ladder in twos and was soon by her father's side along with Gibbs.

"What happened?" she cried. "Are you alright?"

"Never better, luv. Can't say th' same for me thigh, though." He cringed a bit as he ripped away a bit of the fabric of his breeches for her to see the gunshot wound. Even with the wound exposed, the pooling of the blood at the wound was making it impossible to see how deep the ball had wedged itself in his leg.

"Oi!"

Joana's hand pulled back sharply from where it had been subtly prodding the wound in an attempt to locate the musket ball.

"I'm sorry."

"Don' apologize," Jack replied soothingly.

"What happened?"

"Barbossa took it upon himself to try to leave myself an' Gibbs behind. I had made a deal wiv him an' he fell through on his end… Rather than accept his punishment for wot it was though, he tried to fight it—"

"What was the punishment?"

"Death," Jack replied with a little smile.

_I can't blame Barbossa for not wanting to die though_, Joana mused.

"Anyhow," Jack continued, "this led to th' accidental shooting of myself by Mr. Gibbs."

"So sorry, Cap'n," Gibbs muttered, looking contrite and wringing his hands.

"Not a problem, Mate."

Elizabeth soon arrived on the scene, holding her stomach in an odd fashion.

"Jack! What happened?"

"Ah, 'twas jus' a simple misfirin'."

"What?"

"No longer a problem. Gibbs has rendered his pistol no longer dangerous, bein' as th' ball got itself lodged in me thigh."

_Should I tell Lizzie about the Spanish fly_, Jack mused, watching her squat down beside him, Joana, and Gibbs._ Perhaps I should, being as it certainly was th' reason she did wot she did. Yet, was it really? Now, if I don' tell her, mayhap she'll think wot she did was due to other reasons—which_ is_ a possibility— an' may act upon 'em again in a more appropriate fashion. Ah, no need to tell her just yet…_

"We have to raise the wound above your heart," Joana's voice cut in. "That way, the bleeding will stop sooner."

* * *

Jack was soon lying on his mattress with the luxurious bedclothes all pulled out of the way, a rope slung in the rafters holding his leg almost vertical. Never in all his years of fighting and being wounded had he forcibly been laid up, but the way in which his daughter commanded him to rest could only warrant obedience. Besides, he may as well listen to his own daughter. No reason for her to lie to him… except in the case of Elizabeth and Beckett, which still lingered at the back of his mind.

Gibbs, Elizabeth, and other curious crew had since left Jack's cabin to man the ship, leaving Jack alone with his daughter. The words had left his mouth before he had even registered that he had done so.

"So, Joana, I mus' ask, now that we have a bit of time, wot exactly gave you th' idea that Beckett is th' father of Lizzie's—"

Joana sighed with happy relief, startling Jack a bit.

"I saw them," she said. "They were kissing, full-on… right after she spoke of being pregnant. I don't understand why she didn't tell you she was being unfaithful to him—"

"Ah, so you were listenin'," he replied, smiling subtly.

"I couldn't help it! Even _if_ the baby is her husband's, I don't understand why she would have done that with Beckett right after telling him she was pregnant."

"Well… I didn' ask her if she was bein' unfaithful. I asked her if she had done th' sorts of things needed to conceive a child. So perhaps—"

The ensuing thought sickened him enough that he failed to state it aloud.

"The way her and Beckett kissed, it would surprise me if they _hadn't_ done it," Joana replied. "Is your leg comfortable? It looks like the bleeding is already slowing."

"Bugger," Jack muttered. "Why would she lie?" He paused for a moment, shifting his body on the mattress. "I think me leg's gone numb, but not to worry; it's no longer in pain."

"Maybe she and Beckett are planning something. Maybe they—"

"Ye needn't worry about ol' Beckett anymore, luv. He made like an anchor an' dropped hisself off our dear _Pearl_."

"Oh." Joana had assumed something similar to this to be true, but hadn't realized Jack had assured Beckett's demise by doing whatever needed to be done to cause Beckett to sink.

"Might not want to reveal that sort of information to Lizzie, luv," he replied softly. "Times is delicate for her right now. Especially now that her dear captain has gotten hisself laid up an' she'll have no one to—" he caught himself before going into inappropriate conversation "—talk to."

"Of course I won't say anything about him," Joana said, somewhat relieved. Her father had shared a piece of information with her that he hadn't divulged to Elizabeth. It felt good to be trusted. Since the admission from Elizabeth, Joana had felt indirectly betrayed by her, but now she was feeling the grudge fading away.

* * *

"How'd ye manage that, Berken?"

"That would be Beckett," the shackled man replied miserably from his position on the floor.

"I believe I asked ye a question."

Beckett rolled his eyes.

"No. You asked Berken a question."

At his retort, Beckett received an unexpected kick to the shin and doubled over, hissing in pain.

"Ranath, get 'is arms behind 'im again. It seems our pris'ner doesn't know how to respect his captors."

Beckett scowled up at the Indian crewman and the Scot named Wilson, keeping his shackled hands buried under his legs.

"Ah, don't want to listen, eh? What should we do wit 'im?"

Wilson looked down at Beckett, who was still wincing from the throbbing pain in his shin.

"I think we should—"

"Men! All hands on deck!" A panicked crewmember stuck his head down into the hold. "There looks to be a pirate ship headin' towards us!"

Soon Wilson and Ranath had left the hold, momentarily forgetting about changing the way Beckett had been shackled. Wilson had haphazardly left the keys on a distant barrel, though it was totally inaccessible to the chained Beckett even so. Beckett's sigh of relief at retaining his more comfortable wrist-shackling was short-lived, however, at the sound of distant cannonfire.

* * *

Meanwhile, Elizabeth stood above deck with Gibbs, Murtogg, and some other crew members, staring far off to starboard at the continent of Africa, looking like no more than a smattering of green and brown on the horizon. Her stomach churned and ached, but these were no hangover pangs; this was more like a menstrual cramp. _Rather odd, being as I haven't had those while pregnant so far…_ She was about twenty-four or so weeks along in her pregnancy, and these sensations had never occurred.

"Is there somethin' wrong, Mrs. Turner?" the kindly voice of Gibbs said, startling her from her reverie.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, yer holdin' yer stomach like yer seasick. If yer needin' some gin—"

"No, I'm not seasick. I don't know what it is…."

"What's it feel like? Maybe I can help diagnose ye," he offered.

"Crampiness. Could have been something I ate," she replied.

"Yer probably right. Of course, ye could always ask Joana. She's a real medic, ye know."

Elizabeth turned and smiled at the First Mate. It was a good idea that had not occurred to her.

"I hadn't thought of that. Thank you," she replied. Her expression turned wistful, as she watched a group of clouds float on by, the cool sea air blowing her hair about.

_I sure wish Mum hadn't died so many years ago_, she mused, feeling a wave of sadness. _I never learned what to expect during pregnancy… or really, any other womanly thing. And all the education I received never prepared me for this sort of affair. Is it normal to feel this way?_

* * *

It soon became apparent to Beckett that his ship—well, the ship holding him prisoner—was being fired upon. The cannonfire was now a good deal louder, with frequent shuddering of the small merchant ship in its own firings.

"O'Hare! Ye bloody nitwit; go an' get us some more gunpowder! The capstan's been blown to pieces so ye'll have to get it to the gun decks yerself! Make haste, boy!"

The teenage Irishman soon raced down the ladder into the ladder where Beckett sat impatiently squirming.

"What's going on up there?" Beckett asked calmly, as if he had been reading a book in his study.

"We're bein' fired upon by pirates," the Irishman replied quickly, tugging a barrel towards the ladder.

Beckett's heart leapt in his chest. Could it be the _Black Pearl_? Yet—the _Black Pearl_ was headed in the opposite direction from this ship. Certainly there were other pirate ships in the sea…

But, if it was the _Black Pearl_ attacking them at the moment, was Elizabeth one of those firing upon this ship? Elizabeth, riling up her pirate crewmates to loot this unsuspecting merchant vessel? Elizabeth, in danger of being killed? The latter thought greatly troubled him, and the idea of being troubled by this thought further troubled him.

"Do you know what ship it is?" he ventured to ask, anxiously biting his lower lip.

"I believe they have identified it as the _Merry Murder_," the Irishman replied, panting from exertion. Being as the barrel was completely full, a slender youth such as himself, though young, would never be able to lift the barrel up the ladder.

Cutler couldn't help but sigh with relief. _The _Merry Murder_. The ship whose crew boarded our ship seemingly as friends, even giving the _Pearl_ their anchor…the crew who then proceeded to shoot me and hand me in to the authorities in Curaçao for a rather large sum. Probably used some of that blood money to pay for the ammunition they are firing up on us at this very moment. God, I hate pirates….._

Beckett watched O'Hare with great interest as he struggled to lift the barrel falteringly onto the first stair of the ladder.

"Let me help you," Beckett suddenly blurted. "There's no way one man could get that barrel up that ladder."

"Right, an' ye can kill me while ye're at it."

"I do believe a pirate ship chock full of pirates and weaponry facing a ship running out of gunpowder is a _bit_ more urgent an issue than the threat of an unarmed prisoner who just happened to turn _himself_ in."

The youth stared at him as if he had just sprouted a tentacle, not realizing the barrel was teetering back and forth on the first stair.

"I have a personal vendetta against the _Merry Murder_," Beckett continued with a sigh. "I want to help your ship win this battle." He watched the barrel tip precariously close to the edge of the stair, O'Hare still not paying needed attention to it.

_If it has to fall on him to prove a point, then so be it_, Beckett mused, stifling a smirk at the thought. O'Hare could only watch him suspiciously, his back turned away from the teetering barrel.

"The men have been saying that you're a pirate yoursel—Agh!"

It was then, with the shudder of cannonade, that the barrel dropped off the stair, falling against O'Hare's back and causing him to stagger forward in an attempt to catch it with his back and keep it intact. Once the barrel was resting safely in front of the stair on the floor of the hold, Beckett cleared his throat, feeling triumph nigh.

Suddenly there sounded the breaking of boards above their heads, originating from the lower gun deck.

"If you don't hurry with that barrel, there won't be a ship left in which to hold your _vicious, dangerous_ captive."

He gave the boy a little smirk, attempting to cross his arms.

"Fine then. But I don't have the key—"

"It's over there," Beckett said, pointing towards the keys where they sat on top of a barrel. "You won't regret your decision."

"Are you saying I won't regret it because I'll be dead?" He glared at Beckett suspiciously.

Beckett couldn't help but roll his eyes in response.

"Oh, shut it. Just get me out of these shackles and give your ship a fighting chance."

* * *

With Beckett and O'Hare applying all the strength they could muster, the barrel of gunpowder was soon on the lower gun deck and was accessible to the cannons. O'Hare ran along the deck distributing the gunpowder to the cannons. Beckett, meanwhile, had proceeded to the main deck to look upon the ship.

_I must make sure that it is indeed the _Merry Murder_ we are battling, _he mused_. I would find it rather discomforting if I knew I was firing upon—Elizabeth's ship. _

Cannonballs whizzed in Beckett's direction, causing him to leap out of the way and take refuge behind the mainmast. He watched cannonball after cannonball shatter the gunwale to pieces, as well as taking out chunks of the mizzenmast. The capstan was reduced to a few splinters of wood, meaning that certainly the anchor was lost as well.

Beckett watched the crew of this ship ran about in a wild panic, attempting to bring supplies to the cannons. _I still don't even know what the name of this bloody ship is_, he mused, strolling languidly during a small lull in cannonfire from the _Merry Murder_. He noticed several men from his ship looking at him in confusion and realized that he had to blend in better. Sighing, he squatted down behind an unoccupied cannon, aimed it at the hull of the pirate ship, and loaded gunpowder and cannonball as best he could remember from his Royal Navy days.

O'Hare soon came by, carrying a flame, and lit the fuse of Beckett's cannon. Beckett watched his cannonball strike the hull of the _Merry Murder_ broadside, leaving a large gaping hole that was soon covered in smoke.

He could feel the jarring of the ship beneath him as the return cannonade struck the hull. _If we do survive this attack upon us, will the ship be able to make it to Southampton_? Beckett thought worriedly.

Soon Beckett was on a roll, loading his cannon with proper gunpowder and ammunition and subsequently watching the cannonballs take out parts of the attacking ship. When several cannonballs had found their mark on the mainmast, Beckett could only squint as he watched the mast crack in two and collapse upon the pirates racing about on main deck.

The ship trembled beneath him and he peered over the gunwale cautiously to see that his ship was still above water and wasn't yet sinking. A short distance away, the _Merry Murder _was suffering from her damage and was consequently firing less often.

Beckett ducked below the cannon again and loaded it up, waiting for O'Hare to come by with the flame again. This time, however, it was someone less welcome.

"What in the bloody 'ell do ye think yer doin'?" Wilson raged, glaring down at him with a flame in hand. "I have half a notion to set ye afire, ye daft pirate."

"Tell me, would a pirate be aiding your ship in fighting a pirate ship, as well as helping supply your crew with firepower," his tone was bored, a sort of dull drone.

"I asked ye what yer doin', not why ye—"

"Are you going to light the fuse or not," Beckett asked impatiently. "I am defending your bloody ship, in case you hadn't realized."

Wilson scowled at him rather menacingly.

"Are you goin' to make that cannon explode aboard our own ship?"

"What kind of a stupid question is that," Beckett snapped irritably. "Look at how it is aimed. I was the one to bring down the mainmast of the _Merry Murder_, as well as putting several major breaches in its hull. If you're not willing to appreciate what I've done so far and realize that I'm on your side, at least allow for me to continue defending _your_ ship."

Wilson's jaw dropped and he could only stare at Beckett.

"If you continue to stand there like a statue, you will be hit," Beckett replied matter-of-factly.

And with that, Wilson lit the fuse of Beckett's cannon and left Beckett to supply flame for the other cannons.

* * *

Almost two weeks had passed, the busiest weeks Joana had ever experienced in her life. Not only was she treating her father's gunshot wound, but Elizabeth was now experiencing horrible pains in her abdomen. At first Joana supplied the pained woman with willowbark to ease her pain, but when it would not subside, she sought the advice of others aboard. In her short time as a doctor's assistant, she had first assumed that some mild abdominal pain was probably a natural consequence of pregnancy, but when it worsened, she had no choice but to seek out others.

"Ye did a good job on me thigh, luv," Jack told his daughter, as she approached her father above deck. "Looks like it's healin' up jus' fine."

"I'm glad," she replied.

"You do know wot you're doin'; I'll give you that," he said, reclining on a chair propped up in front of the helm.

"It's my job." She smiled at her father, glad to be able to help him.

"An' a good job you do at your job," he replied. "'Tis important for a pirate or any such sea-farin' man to heal from 'is wounds as quickly as possible, bein' as if we should be attacked, I may now actually be able to escap—uh, _ambush_ th' enemy."

"Of course," she said, a smile across her lips.

He eyed her up and down, realizing that she had not changed out of the dress Barbossa had provided for her, even though Barbossa was now blacklisted.

"Now that Barbossa has fallen from grace, there's no need to continue wearin' 'is—"

"It's rather comfortable," she said, touching the immaculate fabric.

"If ye feel much like eating or drinking or crawling aroun' in th' hold on han's an' knees, make sure to do it all in that dress," he replied with a toothy grin.

"Why is this dress so important to him?"

Jack considered for a moment.

"'Twas either 'is mum's dress—or th' dress of the firs' wench he e'er slept wiv. Can't rightly remember," he replied.

Joana felt a twinge of distaste at the second idea.

"Oh."

* * *

Elizabeth had been laid up in bed for the past several days, having first dealt with the pain in silence until it became unbearable, which had taken two days in and of itself. Now the entire crew of the _Pearl_ had been informed of her pregnancy in the wake of these complications. Murmurings of Beckett's fathering the baby ran rampant aboard the _Pearl_ all the while, unbeknownst to Elizabeth as she lie in bed day in and day out.

"_I'll bet it was when they be in her cabin together durin' the time he was supposedly ill," one pirate would proclaim. _

_Another would scoff in disagreement. "I think that brief stop in Azores be the time it occurred. As ye recall, the two of 'em were gone fer at least an hour," another would refute. _

"_Smelled awful funny in the hold fer a while, d'ye remember? That's where it happened; I'd bet me life on it."_

"_Well, I coulda sworn I heard Beckett enterin' her cabin one mornin', which was surely followed by him enterin' her."_

_After hearing various versions of this sort of chatter upon walking past any relaxing crewmembers, Jack grew more and more irritated. Eventually it came to the point when he had had enough._

"_Gents, don' ye all have work to do?" he suddenly blurted, interrupting the pirates who had been discussing the paternity of Elizabeth's Turner's unborn child in the dimness of the forecastle._

"_Sails are full, ship's on course, what more be there to do?" one of the pirates replied._

"_I can think of somethin'—how about this?" Jack replied. The crew all looked up at him with interest._

"_Stop bloody discussin' things that don' directly concern you!" he shouted. Some of the crewmembers noticeably flinched. However, Marty remained still._

"_But it does concern us, Cap'n," Marty ventured to say._

"_An' _how_ does it, pray tell?"_

"_I'll bet Cap'n Turner is punishin' her fer bein' unfaithful to him. An' that's why she's sufferin'."_

_Jack snorted indignantly. Wot if it's true, he mused. Could Joana have been tellin' th' truth, an' Elizabeth be lyin' all along? _

"_Are you sufferin'?" Jack ventured to ask._

"_No, Sir."_

"_Again, bein' as you are not sufferin' at th' hands of th' _Dutchman_, I fail to see how this directly concerns you," Jack said. "However, somethin' that _does_ concern everyone aboard is th' status of wot exactly we have an' haven't got in th' hold. I need ye to set about inventoryin' the contents o' th' hold." _

_They stared at him blankly._

"_Go on! __Tout de suite, men!"_

_They sighed and headed below in silence to do Jack's bidding, unable to hear Jack's sigh of relief._

* * *

"What exactly did Captain Barbossa do to fall from grace?" Joana implored.

"Actually—it's now just Barbossa, luv. An' he fell from grace because he tried to get myself an' Mr. Gibbs off of th' ship so's he could leave wivout us."

Barbossa had not been seen out of his cabin for the entirety of their trip since being shot at by Gibbs, but Jack was still paranoid that he'd be robbed of his new full captaincy. _As soon as I see the bugger, he's dead_, Jack mused, utilizing his good leg to turn the helm slightly on their way to Constantinople. He kept the newly-cleaned functional pistol of Beckett's within easy reach, in case the other captain should make an appearance above deck. Its tiny size kept it well-hidden for the time being. He glanced down briefly at the tip of its ivory handle sticking above the fabric of his boot.

"How did he do that?" Joana asked, interrupting Jack's train of thought.

"The bugger managed to slip some Spanish fly into my an' Mr. Gibbs' drink some time ago. Lizzie got the brunt of the effects, though," he replied, remembering that night well.

Suddenly Joana's eyes widened.

"So she drank a lot of Spanish fly?"

"Yes, that she did," Jack replied, shifting uncomfortably. He didn't want his daughter to know the order of events that night—her father, with a woman younger than she. It was a foreign feeling, wanting to hide these sorts of facts. In his youth it would have been something to boast about freely. But… then again, this was his daughter.

"When did this all happen?"

"Two weeks ago, about."

Elizabeth's stomach pains had arisen a few days after her drinking that bottle of rum. Of course, Spanish fly, aside from its aphrodisiac properties, didn't register as all too harmful to Jack, and so he hadn't thought to mention it to Joana—or Elizabeth, for that matter.

Jack could see the concern in Joana's eyes, and it registered to him what it might mean.

Joana fished out her medical guide and flipped through it quickly, feverishly running her fingers down the pages in a search for the compound.

"Are you saying that Spanish fly—" he began, eyes widening.

"Wait—let me see," she replied, muttering as she found the page. "Oh no..."

Joana's face was pale, as she stared at a particular page of her Portuguese medical guide.

"Wot's wrong, luv?"

His daughter's expression was grave, her eyes wide as it scanned the tattered parchment.

"It's the Spanish fly… She may lose the baby."

* * *

A/N: Ah, thanks for following along! Here's a preview for the next chapter, which will be up much quicker than this one, being as I worked on this chapter, editing it and adding stuff until the very last minute. The preview I had for the last chapter actually applies to the next chapter, being as I added a ton of material before that and I would have made a massively huge chapter had I included the story with that preview section. So be aware! And review, if you so would enjoy!

Preview:

"Now, that's uncalled for," Jack said, his voice surprisingly stern.

Elizabeth's face turned a chalky colour. Jack crossed his arms, looking down at her with a dead serious expression. Seeing this side of the pirate captain terrified her.

"Maybe your whelp an' I weren't the best of chums, but I realize when he's bein' slighted. An' that's in his choice to marry you—"


	12. Hampton House

Chapter 12 – Hampton House

In the dead of night, miles upon miles away from where Joana Sparrow had earlier that same day determined Spanish fly to be the cause of Elizabeth's illness, a badly damaged merchant vessel arrived in Southampton, Cutler Beckett amidst her crew. The former lord of the East India Trading Company was utterly miserable by the time the small ship, which he had now discovered was called the _Nessie's Rock_, sailed into Southampton. He was filthy, unshaven, and his unkempt hair had been permeated with a matting of dust that couldn't seem to be shaken away all too easily. His valor during the battle with the _Merry Murder _had aided in the destruction of the pirate ship and the survival of the _Nessie's Rock_. The crew had watched in awe as the pirate ship took on water through the massive number of breaches low in her hull, and cheered as the _Merry Murder_ sank uneventfully into the sea, sucking her crew in along with her.

Wilson, Randath, and Beckett's other major adversaries in the crew of the _Nessie's Rock_ had since realized that although they still were going to turn their prisoner in for the reward, that Beckett was unable to escape the ship and had thus planned on staying aboard by any means necessary. And so they elected to keep him unshackled and unchained throughout the remainder of the trip. Rather, he had been chosen to patch up the major breeches in the hull, as well as to bail water from the hold. O'Hare, in his release of Beckett, was commanded to accompany Beckett, the two men spending many silent days working to keep the ship decently afloat.

Cutler had lost ten or so pounds in the time that he had spent aboard the _Nessie's Rock_. In sweating all day and being covered in warm seawater during his hours of bailing the water from the hold, Beckett now smelled worse than any pirate he had encountered aboard the _Black Pearl_—even Pintel, for that matter—and this fact annoyed him most of all.

_They should be grateful for all that I have done for them. But no matter; it will be much easier to escape the ship once we reach Southampton, being as I am not shackled._

Thankfully the crew of the _Nessie's Rock_ had not decided to kill him—as of yet. He needed to escape before the ship was moored in the harbor. Being as the _Nessie's Rock_ had lost her anchor in the battle with the _Merry Murder_, the captain had decided to slow the ship with the wind, well before entering Southampton harbour so they would be able to stop. It was then, upon the ship entering the harbour and approaching the docks more slowly than usual, that Beckett decided he would disembark.

Under the cover of darkness, for it was late in the evening that the _Nessie's Rock_ reached her destination, Beckett made his way up to the lower gun deck. He was easily able to snake his now skinnier frame through the gun port from whence he entered the ship.

Once Beckett could feel the cool sea breeze on his face, he saw that the docks still remained a hundred yards or so away from the larboard side of the ship. He'd have to make a swim for it—and would have to get soaked in the process.

He rubbed his arms along the hull, searching for the ladder that would take him more easily off the ship. When he had still not found it and the capstan had stopped turning, Beckett felt panic rising in his throat.

_Here goes nothing_, he thought, dropping headfirst into the water from the lower gun port.

"Did ye hear that," a Scottish accent-tinged voice rang out on main deck. "Sounded like somethin' big dropping from a height."

"Don' be so daft, MacHeath," the ship's Scottish captain replied. "It's just the dock splooshin' up agains' the hull. Ye need to back up yer claims if ye expect to be taken seriously by me."

The captain turned away from MacHeath, leaving him to peer out over the gunwale at the circles spreading out in the place where Beckett had dove off the ship.

"This, comin' from a man who names his bloody ship the _Nessie's Rock_," he muttered to himself, watching the ripples spread over the water.

* * *

Mere seconds after hitting the water, Beckett surfaced, seeing the docks in the distance as he attempted to ignore the frigid cold of the water setting into his bones. Immediately he took a deep breath and swam underwater towards the docks as long as he could go without feeling a need to gasp for air. He surfaced quietly, not daring to look behind him at the ship he had spent these last couple of weeks aboard.

After a good deal more of underwater swimming, Beckett was able to duck his head under the low boards of the docks, seeking to climb onto land at a safe distance from the _Nessie's Rock_. Fortunately, the harbour was packed with ships. _If I can just swim around this next ship, I can then climb onto the next dock_, he mused.

Soon Beckett had dragged his waterlogged body ashore, thankful for the return to land. He had planned out these next several steps beforehand, so he trudged along, water sloshing in his ruined boots all the while, with a specific scheme in mind. A scheme that would first involved his returning home.

* * *

"Don' ye worry, luv; we'll be reachin' Constantinople soon," Jack reassured Elizabeth as she lay in bed, teeth chattering and sweat trickling down her forehead. They only had a day or so to go, and were currently sailing across the Mediterranean Sea near the mouth of the Ionian Sea. Elizabeth had since been informed by Joana that it was the Spanish fly causing her ill effects, acting as an abortificant—though she fought the sensations with all her might.

With all the infidelity Elizabeth had committed against Will – good, sweet, devoted Will—she had to make it up to him, she just had to hold onto this baby, as much as it killed her inside. She needed to do this for her husband, for the guilt of her past transgressions was killing her. Even though her condition had been explained by Joana previously, Elizabeth held onto the belief that she was being punished for what she had done with Beckett.

"Why did I ever drink that rum?" she murmured weakly. "I don't even like rum."

"It's not your fault wotsoever, Lizzie. Barbossa was th' one to drop th' Spanish fly in th' bottle. I should have been payin' more attention."

"I can barely hold on anymore. I know the baby's not ready, but I feel like he's coming and I have to will myself to keep him inside—"

Jack's warm hand touched her shoulder.

"Luv, mayhap it's time to jus' let it—him—go… to save yourself from this pain an' sufferin'. You're makin' yourself sick. It's jus' not worth all this—"

"Yes it is!" she exclaimed, her face flushing with anger. "This is all I have left of Will."

"You'll see 'im again," Jack replied, matter-of-factly. "Then you can go about creating another one—"

"In ten bloody years. By the time I may not even be able to carry a child. No, I must hold on," she said. "Even if I die from this, I will not allow for the Spanish fly to take its effect."

Jack was taken aback. Was it possible that Lizzie _could_ die from this?

"Luv, don' say those sorts o' things. They aren't very becomin' of you."

Elizabeth glanced at Jack's concerned expression, at the wrinkle on his brow. His mouth was in a tight-lipped grimace and he had removed his hat. He looked much like a doting husband, rather than a fearsome pirate captain.

She blinked up at him, noticing him blinking more than usual.

"What's wrong, Jack?"

He avoided making eye contact, instead glancing at her bedside table.

"Nothin' wotsoever is wrong wiv me."

"Well, your leg is—"

"Me leg is healin' jus' fine. Don' you worry about me. Ye've got to keep your own strength up… savvy? An unhealthy mother births an unhealthy baby."

"I am keeping this baby," she stated resolutely.

He gulped rather loudly. Was there any way to convince her to let the Spanish fly do its evils, at least to allow for her own health to return?

"Where is Barbossa now?" she asked, in an attempt to change the subject.

"He's chained up quite nicely in th' brig. He should have realized before lockin' himself in his cabin that he was up against Captain Jack Sparrow, lock-picker extraordinaire. Barbossa will be fetchin' us quite a sum in Constantinople, I imagine."

"Is there anyone watching him?"

"Mr. Gibbs was happy to take up th' duty of keepin' _Herr Barbossa_ in his place, an' has been performin' his duty quite faithfully."

* * *

A loud, albeit muffled groan exited Barbossa's bone-dry lips as he strained his mouth against the gag, his eyes pleading with Mr. Gibbs, who stayed seated in the brig, finishing up the remainder of a bottle of rum.

"Mmumph," he groaned again, eliciting a glance from Jack's First Mate.

Barbossa then started shaking his head rapidly up and down as if trying to loosen the gag from his face.

"Aww, is there somethin' ye'd like t' say?" Gibbs said, standing up and moving towards the former captain, who was looking pitiful from his low vantage point on the floor, shackled down to the downed grating of the brig's only cell. Until this point, he had listened to Barbossa speak in muffled grunts day in and day out, and had since grown weary of the sound of it. Jack watched on silently.

"Now, remember to think before ye speak," Gibbs added teasingly, pulling the gag down so that it now rested over Barbossa's chin.

Upon the relief from his gag, the former captain shut his eyes as if expressing his gratitude to the heavens. _This is gonna be int'restin'_, Gibbs mused, watching the man on the floor carefully as he moved back to where he had been seated.

"Listen, I'd no intention o' causin' Mrs. Turner any harm by what I did. No intention o' causin' ye or Sparrow harm, either. I no longer be th' sort of man that'd shoot an ally."

"Ye'd ev'ry intention o' shootin' Jack that day on the gun deck. There's no point in denyin' it."

"My pistol was not e'en loaded at the time. 'Sides, Jack be the one to threaten me life firs', with a dagger, no less. I was only evenin' the score."

"Mrs. Turner may very well lose her child 'cause of yer scheme."

"Only now I be made aware o' that, an' it pains me to think I caused her this strife. Believe me, there'd be no one I'd rather hurt _less_ than Elizabeth Turner." He turned and glanced at Jack. "Well, yer daughter, perhaps… but tha's it."

"Do you know of an antidote?" Jack asked. "Somehow I doubt it."

"Ye know very well I'm no doctor," the older man spat.

"Well, ye'd certainly be of use to us if ye were, but instead you're jus' a bloody double-crosser."

Barbossa cringed at the accusation from Jack.

"All I can say is give her good food an' such, keep her from gettin' hungry. I didn't intend fer this to occur."

* * *

A ground floor window in the very back of the massive Hampton House squeaked every few seconds as Cutler Beckett slowly pried up the window he recalled as never locking properly. The sprawling main estate of the Beckett family stood high on an array of rocky cliffs overlooking the English Channel to the south, and was so named the Hampton House due to its close proximity to Southampton. As a young boy, Cutler had often slithered out of this particular window into the night, where he'd run swiftly but silently past the torches lining the wall of the massive stone building, collecting in a pillowcase all the creatures drawn to the light.

For years, it had been assumed that Julia Beckett's room had not been sealed properly from the outside, and so layers upon layers of plaster were applied to every corner of her bedroom in caked deposits. No one had ever caught Cutler releasing the moths and various other night insects into his sister's room, or in his sneaking back into his own room down the hall and tucking the pillowcase away for the next evening.

The gardens looked rather sinister this time of night, the lofty wall of manicured hedges surrounding the entire house as a sort of inverted moat a new sight to Beckett. These had not existed when he had lived here. Even so, it had been nearly a decade since he had returned to the family estate, which allowed for plenty of time for hedges to grow to such an imposing height.

He took one last fleeting glance at the hedge wall directly in front of his face as he slipped his legs into the sliver of space beneath the open window, subsequently releasing all the air in his lungs so as to further compress the dimensions of his body.

After closing the window as quietly and carefully as possible, Beckett crept through the pitch black storage cellar, the hedge wall blocking any and all moonlight from entering the windows. This was rather different from what he remembered. _Perhaps Julia finally caught on to my game, and wanted to ensure it never happened again_, he mused, feeling about blindly in the darkness. He was scared out of his wits at the moment, being as this commonly trod trek had _never_ been completely dark, and that if someone caught him sneaking about the house now, he'd be killed where he stood.

Eventually Beckett found the handrail of the staircase that led to the two upper floors of the house. He placed a foot gingerly upon the first step, hearing a faint creak in response.

_Please, God, have the rest be silent_, he mused, taking in a deep breath as he put more weight on the foot. The stair creaked slightly louder. He released the held breath slowly, shifting his foot to the very edge of the stair nearest to the handrail and again bearing his weight down on his foot. This time the board was silent.

It took almost ten minutes for Beckett to climb the flight of fifteen stairs to the landing on the first floor. The house was completely silent, with naught but a single sconce faintly illuminating the stillness of the landing. He closed his eyes for a moment in prayer, and proceeded up the second flight of stairs, clutching the handrail as tightly as the muscles of his hand would allow.

Once he had reached the hallway on the floor of his bedroom, he sucked in a lungful of air, tiptoeing past the first six doors on either side of the hallway.

_Mother's room…Father's room… the parlour…Father's study… the library… Julia's room… _

He glanced down to see that the thick maroon and black rug running the length of this hallway had not been changed in the time he had been away. He smiled in the dimness of the house, glad to see something familiar, as he continued to the end of the hallway.

_And of course… my room. _

Upon his arrival at the final room to his left, Beckett leaned his ear against the polished mahogany of the tall door, listening for any signs of life within the room.

_I need to get out of this bloody hallway as soon as possible_, he mused. _If there is someone inside, most certainly they are asleep_._ Whereas anyone can spot me in this hallway._

Quietly releasing a pent-up breath, Beckett slowly rotated the brass doorknob, gently nudging the door open with a shoulder as he kept his eyes wide open for any sign of movement within the room.

A broad smile crossed his face upon seeing that the covers were untouched and immaculate, his bed uninhabited.

_So tonight I shall get myself some well-deserved sleep in my very own bed, finally free from those bloody pirates. Tomorrow I will go to Father and inform him of the happenings of the last few months. If I can convince him of my innocence, I will then appeal to the courts. If not—well, then—I'll know I face certain death._

Beckett approached his bed as if it were the nest of some mystical beast, staring down at the embroidery of the familiar down comforter of his past. He let his fingertips trail along the stitching as he walked to the head of the bed, relishing in the fact that the fabric had remained in such good shape after all these years.

He then glanced down at his own filthy clothing, his sodden breeches and muddy boots, and frowned. _No use sullying the bed where I shall soon be sleeping_….

He bent over at the waist, resting a hand upon the bed for support as he tugged off his boots and breeches, afterwards slipping the billowy-sleeved shirt up over his head just before he slid under the covers.

* * *

After stashing Barbossa back in the brig, Jack returned to Elizabeth's bedside, where she tossed and turned, sweat glistening on her forehead.

"Feelin' any better?" Jack asked. She grabbed his arm with a sort of talon's grip, staring up at him.

"I think the baby is dying, Jack. All I feel is pain anymore."

She was becoming delirious with the constant ache in her abdomen, the constant fear for her unborn child. Tears began streaming down her face.

"Aw, luv, don' be so pessimistic. It may jus' be indigestion lately; ye ne'er know about those sorts o' things." He hid the fear he truly felt. According to Joana's manual, it was more than likely that the Spanish fly was causing undue harm on Elizabeth's baby.

Elizabeth was unabashedly sobbing now, her eyes shut tightly as tears streamed from them.

"No. I'm being punished. I'm being punished for my sins, I just know it."

Jack's breath caught in his throat.

"Wot do you mean?"

She flailed her legs about under the covers, for her entire lower body was suffering from continual pangs of pain. It appeared that she was about to cry.

"I was unfaithful to Will, Jack. I betrayed my good, devoted, loyal husband. And now I'm being deservedly punished for it."

Jack remembered the time Elizabeth had kissed him, and hoped that that was what she was referring to.

"You were under th' influence of a rather nasty chemical when you kissed me," he muttered, sitting down on the bed. "You cannot blame yourself for—"

"I'm not talking about that," she snapped, sniffling loudly. Dread filled Jack.

"Then wot—"

The sobs came quite loudly as she attempted to speak.

"I was unfaithful to Will with Beckett," she cried. Jack's eyes went wide.

"So th' child is really Beckett's," he managed to utter in his stupefaction. He had previously written the possibility off. Apparently Elizabeth still lied.

"No, it's Will's."

"An' how do you know that for sure?"

"He is the only one who could be the father!"

"Are you certain about that—" Jack ventured to ask, unaware of Elizabeth's rapid mood change, from a defensive stance in the argument to a fast-building fury.

"I'm sick and tired of all this eunuch nonsense from you!" she raged, flailing out at him with her arm, the back of her hand connecting with his jaw. She was weak enough that the blow landed rather softly, yet the meaning of the blow struck Jack.

The pirate captain reeled from the unexpected hit. He stared off into the distance for a moment or two to compose himself after the sudden shift in Elizabeth's mood. After he had been so kind to her, waiting on her hand and foot. It didn't make any sense.

"Now, that's uncalled for," Jack replied, eyes still distant yet voice surprisingly stern.

Elizabeth's face turned a chalky colour. Jack crossed his arms, looking down at her with a dead serious expression. Seeing this side of the pirate captain terrified her.

"Maybe your whelp an' I weren't the best of chums, but I realize when he's bein' slighted. An' that's in his choice to marry you—"

Her jaw dropped, but he continued talking right through the obvious response.

"—'cause you two are like oil an' water. He's all starry-eyed an' devoted an', well, you're more like me, untamable as th' sea. You cannot be restricted to one person an' yet, that's jus' wot he wants of you, an' wot he himself can do for you… though it's not an attribute you can fully appreciate. You have a rather well-developed not-so-nice streak, whereas he's wholesome an' honourable in everythin' he bloody does."

"So are you saying I don't deserve him?" she replied in a thin voice.

Jack knew what was coming. His stern look faded gradually into obscurity. He simply shrugged, awaiting the inevitable slap with closed eyes. But it didn't come.

"You're right," she said, her voice breaking. Jack slowly opened his eyes to watch Elizabeth's tears flowing once again. "He's too good for me. Oh, what have I done?"

"Aye, wot _have_ you done? So it _is_ possible that th' child could be—"

"I didn't do those things with Beckett," she replied curtly. "And I was already pregnant when we…well, when he and I…" her voice trailed off.

"Wot exactly _did_ you do wiv 'im then?" Jack asked, feeling an internal cringe at perhaps _not_ wanting to know the exact details of their affair. "Maybe wot you believe to be 'bein' unfaithful' is, in fact, not."

"Jack, I don't want to go into it. Let's just say it is universal that what I did with him is being unfaithful. I'm thankful that he jumped ship when he did, so now he's out of my life for good. He certainly turned out to be quite the bastard, leaving with no prior notice. Oh, and he said that when he returns to power, he's going to execute pirates again—"

"Oh, he said that, did he," Jack muttered, his eyes lighting up with interest. "An' did he mention me in particular as bein' a future rope-dangler?"

Elizabeth's eyes went downcast.

"Yes."

"An' wot about you? Did he predict your fate?"

_Oh, it bloody figures he'd have to ask that question_, Elizabeth mused, rolling her eyes.

"Yes."

"Any particulars?"

"Not really. Only that he would again be able to choose my fate."

_And yet another lie leaves my lips. God, what is wrong with me? Am I truly of the pirate persuasion? _

"Bugger," Jack managed to murmur. _Maybe she_ is_ bein' punished for wot she did. Good thing Barbossa an' I managed to rid th' ship of 'im. Not that she should know that he did not live by his own volition. _

"Please don't tell anyone," Elizabeth said pleadingly. "Please, Jack… Promise me you won't say anything."

_Why do I have to be the nice guy, the keeper of secrets_, Jack mused. _One of the nine pirate lords I am—well, _was_—an' I'm expected to act like a bloody priest._

Looking at her earnest face softened his heart a bit.

"Alright luv," he murmured with a little smile. "I won' tell anyone."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

* * *

Beckett closed his eyes in utter bliss, reveling in the warmth of the rich blankets stacked upon his now-bony frame. He snuggled into the covers, pulling them up to ear-level, as he thought of all he had to do tomorrow. _I must speak with Father, and then proceed to speak with the head of the East India Trading Company—oh, bother; the company will never take me back being as I was responsible for the death of many of its members. Mayhap the Royal Navy instead. They may be better able to grant me an audience—I do believe Julia is married to an officer of the Royal Navy…_

The former lord lie in bed for several minutes, hearing creaky steps originating from out in the hallway.

_Oh, please don't come in here_, he silently prayed. _Not that anyone has any reason to come in here, being as this was my room, and it doesn't appear to have been used since then. _

The steps came closer, the sound of a little girl's voice on the other side of the door.

"But, Mum, I _know_ I heard something. And look, footprints!"

Beckett sighed with exasperation. Of course his boots had to have been dirty.

"I see what you mean, love," a woman's voice replied. There sounded a cocking of a pistol. "Go back to your room, in case there is someone in here."

"But why would anyone go into Uncle's room?" the child asked. "There's nothing there."

"I don't know, sweetheart. Go to your room, and I'll tell you what I found, alright?"

"Alright, Mum. But be careful!"

More creaks, as the child skipped back down the hallway. Beckett held his breath, pulling the covers up over his head.

_Oh, my clothes—they're all sitting on the floor next to the bed. Will I never have any luck?_

"Who's in here," the woman whispered, as the door creaked open.

Beckett stayed silent, utterly terrified. His life could end right here.

"You'd best speak now; I know you're here," she added, upon seeing the clothing by the bed. She then noticed the lumpiness under the blankets. The person who had entered the room was now sleeping in the bed. How very odd indeed…

"I'm aiming right at you," the woman said, moving closer to the bed, the pistol in her trembling hand. "If you don't show your face, I'll commence shooting."

Beckett slowly lowered the covers from his face, regarding the woman with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. This woman was Julia, his sister. The years had been kind to her, for she was more slender than he last remembered, her wavy hair hanging loosely on her nightgown-clad shoulders. There were a few wrinkles on her face and the shimmering of a few stray silver hairs along her hairline, but all in all, she looked essentially the same as she had the last time he had seen her—which was more than a decade ago. She was wearing a long nightgown, a candle in hand, though upon seeing the intruder, she placed the candle on the blanket chest at the end of the bed, steadying the gun with both hands. Her blue-gray eyes stared piercingly at him, as if attempting to burn a hole through him with her cold glare.

"Who are you and what are you doing in here," Julia growled, looking at the filthy unshaven man lying under the rich covers.

Beckett attempted to scoot his body up a bit on the headboard so that he wasn't lying so horizontally.

"Do you not recognize your own brother."

For a moment the barrel of the pistol lowered, recovering upon her next words.

"You cannot be my brother. My brother is dead."

"No, I'm very much alive, Julia," he replied, feeling his knees shaking. "You mustn't shoot me before I've had a chance to explain. Where did you hear that I am dead."

"My brother was to be executed in Port Royal. Even though the execution didn't go as planned and he escaped with the pirates, I consider my brother to have been executed at that time. And even though he didn't die then, he surely would be dead by now. I don't know how you know my name but any imbecile could have figured that out."

He ignored her last scathing comment.

"Ah, so I'm dead to _you_—though not literally dead. Which makes it perfectly viable that I am your brother."

"Even if my brother were still alive, you don't even resemble him. You look like common pirate filth."

"I only look this way because I have been a stowaway on a merchant vessel for more than half a month."

"If you honestly believe you can convince me that you're my brother, you're going to have to tell me something that only he would know."

"Like what," he said arrogantly, his face contorted into a scowl.

"Like what I just said," she snapped back irritably, the pistol not wavering.

Beckett cleared his throat.

"Well—alright. Let's see…. I am Cutler Beckett. My father's name is George—"

"Something that only my brother and I would know. I don't want a bloody family history."

He winced at the sound of his sister's swearing. She was even more irritable than he last remembered. They never got along well in all the years he lived here, so how could he expect her to treat him kindly now?

"Alright…So you love animals," he said. She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

"You love animals—but you became discouraged early on, and so didn't have many pets through your youth. Your first pet was a turtle," he explained. "Its name was… Annabelle. You used to keep it in the fish pond behind the house."

"Alright, but there are many who could know that," she replied huffily.

"Do you remember how it disappeared for a couple of days? And then you found it, dead, in the central fountain of the gardens."

Her expression remained blank.

"You couldn't understand how it had gotten into the fountain, or how it could have drowned in the water."

She gaped at him in realization that this was a fact that very few people knew. At the time, she had made quite a fuss about her dead pet turtle, but she had only told her parents where it had been found. Beckett had struck a nerve with his sister. The purpose of his story had been accomplished.

"Yes, well, I had always assumed I set her down there and forgot about her—" Julia began explaining.

"I killed the turtle," he muttered, with a grimace. He hadn't needed to reveal that piece of information, and yet, oddly, he found himself simply blurting it out.

A flash of anger appeared across Julia's face. Her eyes narrowed menacingly.

"How so? You were—my brother—was just a child of only seven or so at that point."

"I held it underwater in the fountain until it stopped flailing about. To this day I don't recall if I knew better or not than to do that sort of thing," he replied simply, shrugging his shoulders. "I was jealous of you for having a pet before I could. I couldn't stand it."

She held the pistol steady, but walked around the bed so that she was standing above him. Cutler watched intently as she switched the hand gripping the pistol. He didn't budge or flinch at the sight.

"You're long overdue for this," she muttered reproachfully, face twisted in disgust as she raised her right arm in the air in preparation to slap him. .

Without a flinch from Beckett at the impending violence against him, Julia whacked her little brother hard across the face. His head had involuntarily turned from the force, but he soon faced forward again, expressionless.

Julia watched his anticlimactic reaction with rage. Sure, to not bat an eye was Cutler's M.O. in times of strife, but to allow himself to be slapped was _never_ an option he would have allowed. She held her hand back again.

"Would you like another slap?" she said in a jeering tone. He sighed, looking up at her briefly under heavy eyelids.

"If it makes you feel any better," he replied, keeping his body and head still.

She slapped him across the face again, this time twice as hard as before. Her hand was stinging after this slap, as certainly his cheek was. He turned his head forward again, letting out a little sigh.

"So, do you believe me now when I say I am Cutler Beckett?"

"No," she said, keeping the pistol steadily aimed at him. "My brother would have never allowed me to slap him—let alone twice. Now—get out of here before I change my mind about killing you."

* * *

Please review, guys! You've no idea how much it helps me in writing this story and in turn, in posting new chapters based on my increased ability to write upon receiving reviews! I can't tell if interest still remains if no one says anything….

The more feedback I get, the better it makes me feel about continuing to write the story! If reader interest (and feedback) wanes, then my interest in the story tends to wane as well. I am quite jealous of authors who can still write new chapters without needing feedback…. Yet, sadly, I am not one of those authors. Reviews are very very helpful to me in both structuring the story in the future, correcting present inaccuracies/plot holes/errors, and in giving me the drive to write more and overcome bouts of writer's block!

I don't have a preview for chapter 13, because the next chapter is still being polished and examined for inconsistencies, etc.

Well, thank you for reading this chapter, as well as reading my personal rants to the bitter end!


	13. Sibling Rivalry

* * *

Thanks for the reviews, guys! I really really appreciate it!

* * *

Chapter 13 - Sibling Rivalry

* * *

Cutler Beckett was shocked that he had been unable to convince his own sister of his identity.

"Wait—I can tell you something else. Let's see," Beckett said thoughtfully. "Alright. Do you remember every morning in the summer, you'd wake up with a roomful of moths?"

"Yes," she said, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. "My room wasn't sealed properly, and somehow they'd get in through the cracks—"

"No."

"What do you _mean_, no?"

"It was me." He looked up at her, watching her eyes narrowing again. "Every night in the summer, I'd sneak out of my room and run by the lights along the house with a pillowcase. I'd let them out in your room. The pillowcase I used was the blue hand-stitched one. I'll bet it's still tucked under the mattress."

Snaking a hand under the mattress as he shut his eyes, Beckett tugged out a blue pillowcase. He turned it inside-out to pour onto the floor a shower of powder from the wings of moths as well as several shriveled up insect carcasses.

Her face darkened with anger, as she glared daggers at him. Finally she lowered the pistol. Cutler sighed with relief.

Another brutal slap across the face caught him off-guard, but he expressed no negative feelings over it, instead staring straight ahead quite serenely.

"I find it hard to believe that you would allow me to slap you about like this," Julia hissed. "You always avoided taking the blame. Do you think you're going to win pity from me now in letting me take out some of my anger on you?"

"I'm not trying to win pity from you."

"Then why are you behaving so differently? Actually _admitting_ things you have done wrong, as well as the accepting the consequences?"

"Because I realize that I deserve punishment for my offenses against you. I haven't been the best brother."

"Ha, that's an understatement."

"Yes." He sighed. "I'd hope that now you believe that I'm Cutler."

She sighed huffily.

"I do. But what are you doing here? Spying for the pirates?"

"I'm not allied with the pirates," he replied. "They tortured me, as a matter of fact. I escaped from them and came here."

"You were on the _Endeavour _when it capsized. Why did they rescue you?"

"Apparently, some of them thought that my death wasn't painful enough, and so decided to torture me first."

"Well, why did they save you from your execution then? I'd have thought that by that point, they'd have exacted their revenge against you and would let you die dishonourably."

"In rescuing me, my reward for capture would increase several-fold, so that I could serve as a resource for them, being as they were in dire need of money at the time."

"I don't believe you." She crossed her arms, scowling at him.

"Want me to prove it then?"

"Fine."

She blanched a bit, wondering how in the world he was going prove the statements he was making. Beckett sat up in bed, allowing for the blanket to fall into his lap, exposing his bare upper body. He scooted forward, pulling the blankets around his waist so as not to reveal his underdrawers to his sister.

The disheveled former lord leaned forward in bed, with chest and back fully exposed.

"Look at my back," he said, glancing up at her with mild irritation.

She took several steps closer and gaped down at the mess of wounds across his back. Purple wormy scars running every which way over the entirety of his back. A rather nasty unevenly sutured wound on his left shoulder looked like it had been slit back open with a sharp blade.

"What are these," she murmured, running her finger along a purple worm of a scar.

"Lash marks," he replied simply. "From the countless times they flogged me. There are also numerous ones elsewhere." His backside was probably covered with the purple scars.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"They shot me… and then, when it had almost healed, they sliced it back open." He winced, remembering Elizabeth's accidental slice—not that his sister needed to know that, of course.

"The pirates kept me bound and gagged in the brig of their ship for months," he continued. "Somehow I managed to escape, and so I stowed away on a merchant vessel headed for Southampton."

He noticed that she was scowling at the wall behind him, seemingly having missed the gist of what he had just said.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, watching her angry glare become directed at him.

"I'm still so disgusted that you did those things to me in our childhood. And worst of all, no one ever caught you in the act. I'm sort of glad you lost to and were captured by the pirates, because until then, you led the luckiest and easiest of lives, even though you've been wholly undeserving of it."

"If you'd like to slap me again, go right ahead; I won't stop you," he replied, calm as ever, watching her intently. "Your statements are quite accurate, and you have every right to turn me in to the law. I've done nothing in my past to warrant any kindness from you. The reward for my capture, after all, is twenty-five thousand pounds."

"Ha, a mere trifle," she muttered.

"It's the principle of the matter, Julia. I won't fight back if you sent the law in after me. It's probably what I truly deserve, anyway, for freezing up on the _Endeavour_ as my crew was being slaughtered all around me. My failure to command them led to the deaths of many, and I take responsibility for that."

Her jaw literally dropped. He continued speaking.

"However, I am not allied with the pirates and will _not_ apologize for their actions in twice rescuing me for their own reasons."

Upon his last statement, she lifted her arm as if to slap him just to envision his response, watching him not so much as flinch.

"I was serious when I said you can slap me without consequence," he said.

Her jaw dropped again. She finally garnered enough gall to speak.

"Undoubtedly you are responsible for the deaths of many East India Trading Company employees in your inability to do your job on the _Endeavour_."

She could sense the subsequent appearance of shame on his face, though subtle. Cutler's behavior was a shock to her system. She could actually see her brother's emotions for once, emotions that were appropriate for the situation at hand. Julia continued speaking.

"I can believe that the pirates tortured you, and that you weren't with them on your own volition. However, I have more respect for pirates now, being as your time with them certainly made you more human—unless, of course, this is all an act."

"No." he said simply.

"So what are you doing here?"

"I've come to redeem myself in the law-abiding world. I want to climb the rankings again. Your husband is an officer of the Royal Navy, is he not? Maybe he can bring me to the admiral to plead my case."

"My husband _is_ the Admiral of the Royal Navy," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh, is that right," he blandly replied, feigning disinterest. _I guess he has been an officer for the Royal Navy long enough to justify such a promotion._

She rolled her eyes exasperatingly.

"So now you're going to use my husband for your gain? Perhaps you haven't changed as much as I thought."

"You're probably right," he replied, holding his face in a sort of squint for another slap to come out of nowhere. "However, I was also planning on speaking with Father first, about the happenings of the last few months. I honestly had no intention at first of speaking with your husband… I only just remembered that your husband worked for the Royal Navy. If I cannot convince Father, I know that I won't be able to convince your husband."

During Beckett's explanation, Julia had tried to cut in to no avail. When he stopped speaking, all her anger faded and she spoke quietly.

"Cutler, Father is dead."

Beckett's face fell as he gaped up at her, eyes wide but disbelieving. His expression was of pure shock.

"What? But how—"

"Galloping consumption, the doctors say. A couple of months ago, shortly after we received word that the pirates aided in the escape of your execution."

"But he wasn't even old!" Beckett blurted. "The last time I received word from him he was still working—"

"Well, a lot can happen in a year or so," she muttered, glancing down at her feet. The haunted look on her brother's face bothered her. "He died thinking you'd gone pirate. He was prepared to die, however, and did leave a sealed letter that he said was for your eyes only— if you were to ever return."

"Oh, God, I can't believe this..." Beckett said, cradling his jaw in his hands glumly, his elbows propped up on his blanket-covered knees. He felt ridiculously vulnerable at the moment, upset and mostly unclothed in bed in front of his sister. His father's sudden passing during such a bad time in his own life devastated him. George Beckett had always doted on Cutler, his younger child and only son, and had sent him to the best of schools in preparation for a high-rank life and a rich inheritance. Surely he was only in his mid-sixties, far too young for a man of his wealth and status to die of such a disease.

"So you honestly had no idea of Father's passing?" his sister ventured to ask, watching his unfocused stare at the bedspread. "Everyone in the Royal Navy became aware of it almost as soon as it happened."

"I've been on a bloody pirate ship for the last several months; what do _you_ think," he snapped back irritably.

Julia Beckett was noticeably taken aback by his outburst, and moved away from him, her eyebrows stitched with worry, and with mild annoyance.

"I'm sorry," Cutler managed to stammer, making earnest eye contact with his only sibling. "I'm still in a state of shock, is all."

Her jaw dropped at her brother's unexpected apology—in all actuality, any apology from Cutler Beckett was unexpected.

"So now that you've become aware of Father, you've no reason to stay here… I've inherited his estate—"

"Julia," he muttered, looking up at her, his expression dead-serious. She was a bit taken aback by the earnestness in his voice.

"All I want is to spend a night in my own—well, what _was_ my own— bed. Just _one_ night without having to worry about being violated by pirates, or lying in some decrepit corner of a ship teeming with rodents and roaches. Please. I won't ask any more of you. One night is all I ask. And then I'll be gone."

"And what of speaking to my husband?"

"I'll only speak to him if you'll grant me the permission to do so. I didn't come here to be a burden."

He could tell Julia was considering deeply.

"Please," he repeated, his voice greatly softened. "Tonight may very well be my last night alive."

Julia suddenly spun around at the sound of a timid knocking at the door.

"That's my daughter," she whispered harshly to Beckett. "I don't want her to meet you right now. I shall grant you this one night but no more. This house is already too full with my family and our help. My maid will draw you a bath tomorrow to freshen up for your meeting, but then you must go."

"Please keep this visit a secret, perhaps telling the maid but no more, so I'm not being sought out before I can explain myself."

"Alright. But just this one night."

A huge smile spread across Beckett's face, as he beamed at his sister, who was looking back over her shoulder at him while walking back towards the door.

"I'm grateful for your kindness," he stated in a whisper. "Thank you, Julia."

"I'll get you your letter," she muttered, snatching up the candle from the blanket chest and leaving the room. _God—he almost sounds humble_, she mused, immediately pulling the door closed behind her. _I hate to admit, but I think I like whatever happened to him in his time with the pirates to cause such a change in him. If, indeed, this isn't an act…_

* * *

In the couple of weeks since learning of Will Turner, the new captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, Admiral Morgan had discovered that Turner's father had been a rather infamous pirate around the British Isles, Bootstrap Bill Turner. Before he was committed to the _Dutchman_, it was known that Will Turner had been working for Lord Beckett to find Captain Jack Sparrow's _Black Pearl_. So apparently there was some connection between Turner and the _Black Pearl_, and perhaps the key to the Dead Man's Chest was on the _Pearl_. But since the solitary sighting of the ship in the Azores several weeks ago, no one had made any mention of the _Black Pearl_. And it was unknown who aboard the _Black Pearl_ would have the key. Perhaps Sparrow himself had the key. Morgan had not heard of the betrothal of Turner to a one Elizabeth Swann, a marriage interrupted by way of arrest by Beckett, because most of the EITC and Royal Navy men present during their very brief engagement had either died (Norrington, Gov. Swann, Mercer), succumbed aboard the _Endeavour_, or if any had survived, they had never directly interacted with Morgan on this matter. There was always the chance that Bootstrap Bill had the key… Even so, it would be difficult to attempt to cross paths with the _Flying Dutchman_ again. As fearsome as the _Black Pearl_ was to most, Morgan did not worry.

Granted, Morgan was familiar with the captain of the _Black Pearl_. Certainly everyone at an officer ranking knew of the infamous pirate and all his crimes and misdeeds. In his final days as a bachelor he had happened across Sparrow on the grounds of his fiancée's home. Before Morgan could even register what business Sparrow could possibly have there, the pirate was gone—having dropped off the cliff overlooking the ocean.

_Quite the lucky bastard he was that day_, Morgan mused. He recalled being fearful for his fiancée after seeing the infamous pirate, and ran inside her home to check on her. He did notice that she looked a bit disheveled, but attributed her appearance to the fact that she had to rush out of the bath upon hearing an alarmingly loud sound. She commented that it seemed nothing had been taken from the house, and he had never seen nor ran across the pirate again.

_Until he's found again, which shouldn't be long. And this time, he won't have a cliff to drop off of. The only dropping he'll be able to do will occur with a noose around his neck._ Even so, this first step required finding the whereabouts of the _Black Pearl_.

"Like searching for a needle in a bloody haystack," he muttered irritably to himself.

Morgan kept his eye on the port of Southampton from his seated position in the Great Room of the former Admiral's home. He rather preferred this place to the estate his wife had inherited from the passing of her father. Mayhap he could convince her to move here—the property was not that of the admiral's inheritance, but of the position of admiral itself. It was quite the honour to be living in such an estate.

After their failed attempt to get the key to the Dead Man's Chest, the boy Longfellow had approached him, recalling Morgan's vow for the boy to be trained as an officer cadet of the British Royal Navy upon completing his task. Morgan was taken aback by the brazenness of the boy, to immediately ask about the officer training as the first statement to leave his mouth. Sure, Longfellow had been helpful and all, but Morgan didn't feel like getting all the paperwork filled out and all the right trainers spoken to about this mere cabin boy. The volume of the boy's voice rose at Morgan's refusal to recall the vow he had made with him.

"_But, Sir, you're the Admiral now; you can do anything you want! You could probably even make me an officer without my needing to be trained first!" Longfellow had stated, after Morgan refused to acknowledge his earlier vow._

"_Are you attempting to make a mockery of the British Royal Navy?" Morgan had shot back. "What do you think this is, some sort of game?"_

"_No, Sir. Of course not. But I want to fight for my country. I don't want to just be nameless help; I want to be an officer."_

"_The customary year for officer training is age twenty. Tell me, how old are you, boy?"_

"_Fifteen, Sir."_

"_Well, you're going to have to wait five years, just like all the other boys your age."_

"_But I thought—"_

"_Do you know where the _Black Pearl_ is making berth next?"_

"_What? The _Black Pearl_?"_

"_Just what I thought. You are useless to me now. I am no closer to the heart than I was before."_

"_But, Sir, I—"_

"_This discussion is over," Morgan angrily snapped, immediately silencing the boy._

_Longfellow had stomped out angrily from the room, never looking back. Ah well, Morgan mused. Even when I was a lieutenant, Longfellow was a harmless little peon. Now he's even less than that. He's useless to me now, anyway. _

* * *

"Here's the letter," Julia told her brother, thrusting the sealed envelope into his hands. On it was red wax stamped with his father's seal. She stood above him as he ran his fingers along the parchment, curious as to what it contained. Eventually when he realized she wasn't leaving he looked up at her.

"If you'll please excuse me for a moment," he said, indicating the envelope.

"Oh, want to read it in privacy, do you?"

"Well… it's the last memory of my father that I have. I do not wish to burst into tears in front of you upon reading this."

"Ha, as if you could cry."

It was true that she had never seen Cutler Beckett cry. He could only remember crying two or three times in his entire life. Granted, he had come close to crying during his last stand, in his utter stupefaction over being defeated by the pirates, but had held back any sign of weakness as was customary. The only individuals to have ever seen him cry were probably Mercer, during Beckett's confession of love for Luiza, and the pirates aboard the _Black Pearl_, towards the end of that awful flogging.

Beckett stared glumly at the envelope, silently praying that his sister would go away. Truthfully, he wanted this letter to hold some sort of hope that he could inherit some fraction of the estate his sister had not yet been made aware of. Finally, after more than a minute of awkward silence, Julia turned around.

"Alright, you win. I'll leave you alone for the night. But—how did you get in here?"

Beckett flashed her a little naughty smirk.

"The cellar window on the northeastern corner of the house, in the back," he replied. "It never did lock properly."

Julia left the bedroom, subtly locking the door from the outside, for it was still so difficult to trust this man who acted so differently than she ever remembered. Upon hearing the subtle click of the lock, Beckett broke the seal and opened the letter, which was certainly his father's writing, for his showy cursive handwriting was unmistakable:

_Dear Cutler,_

_By the time you read this I will have been long-dead. I pray that you have not become allied with the enemy of the Crown, as rumour has long been circulating. I have sent a copy of this letter to the High Court, so that upon your redemption, you must present this letter to the High Court to have the will stated herein to be put into effect. You must read this letter in confidence, in the absence of Thomas Morgan, in particular. _

_My son, you are the last remaining Beckett heir to retain the family name. If you are to marry and produce a male heir, than I shall bequeath unto you the estate. Until you present this letter to the High Courts with a marriage certificate and a male heir, Julia and Thomas Morgan hold control of the estate._

_I do not trust Thomas Morgan with the affairs of the family estate. Although your name has been viciously disparaged, I believe you to be loyal to the Crown, just as you have been throughout your life. However, I cannot say the same for Thomas Morgan._

_If you have accomplished the tasks mentioned in this will, then you hold the key to the estate in your hands. I pray that if you acquire the estate, that you will bestow upon your sister a portion, to retain a good relationship with her and her family. I do not wish that my only children would harbour ill will towards the other over the nature of inheritance. _

_I will miss you when I am gone, Cutler. You have made me proud in your many accomplishments. I hope that you are able to clear the family name of the poison that has befallen it. I only wish you much happiness and prosperity for your future, and I hope that you will return home before it is too late…._

_Yours truly,_

_Father (George Beckett II)_

Upon finishing reading the letter, Beckett tucked the paper into his balled up shirt, which he then pushed under the bed, realizing that he could never let his sister see such a letter. He'd have to make up some sort of general goodbye-letter scheme, if she asked him about it tomorrow. Smiling with utter relief, he then slid down the headboard, lying his head upon the down pillow, feeling several sharp pricks from the quill of the feathers within. _Thank you, Julia_, he mused, smiling at the place where she had been standing. _Although you'll probably regret having helped me once I return to collect my inheritance…_ With a loud sigh, he pulled the blankets up over his head, and quickly fell into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Beckett awoke to the sound of water being poured. He sat up with a jolt, seeing that the maid had entered his room and was filling up a metal tub with pail after pail of steaming hot water. There was a rather large kettle heating in the fireplace, the source of the hot water. Beckett remembered this maid well—a good-natured older Scottish woman with silver hair, having joined the household when Beckett was in his teens. She had been about forty-five years of age at that point, with prematurely gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her hair was now stark white, but in the same hairstyle. Familiarity was good at this point in time.

"Good mornin' to ye, Mr. Beckett," the older woman said cheerily, as she lugged another pail to rest on the brim of the tub. "Nice t' have ye aroun' the house again."

"Good morning, Nellie," he replied, happiness clearly written all over his face at this glorious morning in the midst of wealth and excess. It was as if he had never spent those last several months on a pirate ship: being flogged, shot at, sent to be executed, pissing out of a breach in the hull of a ship, and bound and gagged in a dank cage. He watched the maid struggling to lift a rather full pail. _This is painful to watch. She has to be at least twenty-five years older than me, and a woman, at that_.

"Wait," he said, quickly pulling off the covers and stepping out of bed. She froze in place, looking back at him. "Let me help you with that."

He took the pail from her and easily poured it into the tub, which was only a quarter full.

Nellie was taken aback by this new helpful Cutler Beckett. He had never been very kind to her in all her years working for the Beckett family, mostly ignoring her and taking her for granted, but his unpleasantness and arrogance was easier for her to take than the sheer cruelty she saw in Julia Beckett's husband. She rather looked forward to having Beckett back in the estate, for he was the lesser of two evils. And this strange new way about him, this semblance of happy emotion he was expressing unabashedly, was very encouraging.

It was then, with a polite little smile on her face, that she eyed up Beckett, who was standing in front of her in nothing but his underdrawers.

He noticed her looking at him, and in seeing her not diverting from her blatant observations of his not-quite clothed body, he was a bit perturbed at first, but then looked at himself.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry," he muttered, backing up towards the bed, face reddening all the while. He was too embarrassed to look at the maid's face, instead squatting to pick up the breeches that he had placed on the floor the night before.

"Ne'er ye mind, Mr. Beckett. I implore you to leave those clothes be. I'll wash 'em for ye."

"I was rather hoping that some of my clothing still remained here…somewhere," he replied, looking about himself as he held the dirty breeches in front of his underdrawers.

"Ah, o' course, Sir," she said, pouring a final pail of steaming water into the tub. "Ye'll be takin' your bath soon. I'll get ye some o' your things for when you're finished. Here's some soap, a washcloth, an' a towel, Sir." She pointed out the items, which had been set upon the blanket chest at the foot of his bed. "Have a pleasant bath."

"Thank you," he muttered, staring down at the floor, soon noticing that she was approaching him.

Before he could say or do anything more, the maid had snatched the filthy garments off of him. Beckett shifted his feet, eyeing her uncomfortably as she seemingly stared at his stomach.

"What happened there, Sir," she said, pointing at the C-shaped sword slice across his stomach. The wound was quite old by this point, but Nellie had never seen him shirtless before.

"My opponent was better with a sword than I," he replied quietly, face now set in a grimace. "Thank you, Nellie."

"Pleasure's all mine, Sir," she replied with a little smile, hastily turning around and leaving the room.

Beckett felt a bit paranoid, stripping in the middle of such a large room. This was, for all intents and purposes, his room, but his lengthy absence from the family property made it all seem so foreign, so huge and open. And the fact that he shared quarters much smaller than this with a couple dozen pirates made the room seem that much bigger. Certainly not the sort of place to strip. He stared at the steam rising from the tub, hoping that the water would cool quickly so he could clean up as soon as was possible.

Once the water had become a bearable temperature to be able to hold an arm under for more than a minute, Beckett stepped into the tub in his underdrawers, letting out a gasp of air as he slowly lowered himself onto his haunches in the still very hot water.

Upon lathering up the soap to make the water cloudy, he slipped off the underdrawers and placed them over the rim of the tub. _Now I can finally clean myself of all that ground-in pirate filth_, he mused, running the bar of soap over all the skin he could reach.

He took his time in the bath, reveling in the cleanliness and refinement of the cleansing water, only startling once to see Nellie peeking in for a brief moment. Thankfully the tub was a distance from the door, for there was nothing for her to see. _This could very well be the last thing I do, if I'm unable to convince Morgan of my loyalty._

Beckett wrapped himself in a towel once he was finished, soon noticing his maid walking into the room with the more refined pieces of his clothing.

"Big day today, Sir," she said, handing him a fresh pair of underdrawers first. Beckett felt his face go red again at the presence of such a garment being handed to him by a woman. Swallowing what little pride he had left, he held the towel about his waist as he slipped the underdrawers on in front of the maid, careful not to expose anything. It was bad enough that a ship full of heathen pirates had seen it all. No use showing his bits to the kindly old maid of his estate—well, his _sister's_ estate now—at least, for the moment….

Soon Beckett looked himself again. His face was clean-shaven. He now wore a pair of midnight blue woolen breeches, black knee-high riding boots, and a fresh white linen shirt under a midnight blue velvet waistcoat. The waistcoat was one of his most splendid, with gold embroidering around every buttonhole, the buttons themselves gold-plated. Over the waistcoat he wore a dark coat with similar gold embroidering on the sleeves and around the collar region. The cravat about his neck was lined with the finest of lace, and the white wig and tri-corn hat upon his head was identical to his previous wig and hat. He had taken his father's letter from the shirt he had stuck between the mattresses and tucked it into an inner coat pocket. In his days as lord of the EITC these older clothes would have been a tad too tight, but after all the weight he had lost lately, everything fit just fine.

It appeared as if Cutler Beckett was himself once again, for there was not a difference in the way he looked, except for the multitude of scars now across his shoulders as well as elsewhere, all hidden from view.

"Now, there's the brother I remember," Julia Beckett said with a slight smile, entering the room to see him bedecked in such finery. It was as if nothing about him had changed… which was quite a shame. She rather liked the humbler version of her brother.

* * *

Questions? Comments? Opinions? Suggestions? :)


	14. Intrepid

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A/N: Ahh, I'm sorry it took so long for me to update! I promise I'll be better! Thank you so much for reviewing, TavyBeckettFan, Drusilla Braun, Panzergal, and Lady Elizabeth Beckett!

Well, I hope everyone likes this next update!

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Chapter 14: Intrepid

"I need to see a doctor!" Elizabeth wailed, as the _Black Pearl_ drifted into the main port of Constantinople.

"Soon, luv. Ye can't very well get off th' ship before she's moored properly," Jack replied, feeling huffy immediately. _Of course ye can; ye did jus' that wiv Beckett in th' Azores…_

Upon the _Black Pearl_ reaching Constantinople, Jack carried Elizabeth's exhausted body off of the ship into the main square of town, where he soon found a doctor's home, only noticeable because there were two people leaving the building with casts on their arms. Of course, it was also soon realized that no one in Constantinople spoke English.

Once in front of the doctor in his home/office, Elizabeth continually pointed at her stomach as she spoke to the doctor.

"I'm pregnant, Sir, and I accidentally ate Spanish fly!"

"More like drunk it, actually," Jack cut in.

"You aren't helping," she shot back at the dreadlocked pirate. "Sir," she said, looking back at the clueless Turkish doctor. "Doctor. I'm with child." Elizabeth pointed at her stomach, eventually losing patience and screaming at him with choice words thrown in. "Baby here!" she cried. "I may lose baby! Do you bloody understand; I could lose the bloody baby!"

The doctor returned her rants with a shrug and a blank stare. He pointed at her stomach, using an unrecognizable word phrased like he was uncertain. This place was useless.

Elizabeth was inconsolable, as Jack helped steady her on their way out of the doctor's home.

"What am I going to do now?" she said. "The baby, Jack, what's going to happen—"

"Ye ne'er can tell about those sorts o' things, luv. Shall we look for another doctor? Constantinople is certainly a large city—surely there have to be other doctors."

The pair searched high and low, and eventually stumbled upon a doctor in the outskirts of town, one who realized at least that Elizabeth was pregnant.

"I'm coming to you because I am in pain!" Elizabeth said to the seemingly more English-knowledgeable physician. "Pain!"

"Stay," the doctor finally replied. "I can try help you and _gebe_. But must stay. _Evet_?"

Elizabeth glanced back at Jack, who nodded solemnly.

"I assume _evet_ to mean yes," she whispered to Jack. He nodded again, though with not as much certainty.

"Alright," Elizabeth said to the doctor. "I'll stay."

* * *

The Beckett siblings traveled to Admiral Thomas Morgan's new temporary domicile, the home where the former admiral had lived.

Upon Cutler bowing before Morgan, the tall admiral scowled disapprovingly. This was not lost on his wife, who was standing beside Cutler.

"You remember my brother Cutler," Julia said to her husband. "Cutler, this is Thomas, my husband."

"That would be Admiral Morgan to him," he shot back disdainfully, glaring coldly at Cutler. He glanced back at Julia, looking quite irritated. "And what is he doing here? Brother or no, Julia; he's a bloody pirate sympathizer. He was to be executed months ago in Port Royal—"

"I beg your pardon," Beckett said quietly, "but I am not a pirate sympathizer. In fact, these past several months of my absence from society have been spent in their custody, being imprisoned and tortured all the while."

Morgan couldn't help but let out a little scoff.

"Is there some way you can prove this? Otherwise, your word is no better than that of your pirate _brethren_."

Morgan had always been quite arrogant, but he had always had to bow to Cutler Beckett, who ranked far above him. Now that he was above Cutler in rank, it was almost unbearable for Beckett to have to try to deal with his snobbish ways _and_ to have to show respect to him. _Who am I kidding, _Beckett mused._ If I were in his position right now, I wouldn't even grant myself the chance to speak. I'd be hanged outright._

Julia began rapidly nodding her head.

"What is it, Mrs. Morgan," the admiral asked his wife, irritation in his tone.

"I saw them. The scars. Looks like he has been to hell and back."

"And could he not have administered them by himself?"

"No. The wounds are all over his back… there's a gunshot wound in his shoulder, and a stab wound atop that. It's really rather disgusting—turned my stomach, it did."

Cutler looked over at his sister with relief, hoping that he wouldn't have to disrobe for the admiral to prove his point. He held his breath expectantly, looking down at the ground to retain some sort of demure stance. It was rather annoying how Morgan talked about him as if he wasn't even in the room.

"Your brother never was one to allow himself to undergo any negative consequences he could avoid… which does make it probable that the pirates inflicted these wounds upon him."

Beckett rolled his eyes, head remaining aimed toward the ground.

Finally the admiral glanced over at Beckett. _If Julia were closer to her brother, I would be averse to trusting her word, but frankly, she's loathed him for years. There's no reason I can see why she'd make this up. On the contrary, I would think… even though he is not set to inherit the estate…_

Morgan looked down haughtily at Beckett, who stood expectantly in his reacquired fine clothing.

"I'm not certain as to whether I should force you to disrobe to show me these wounds, or—"

"Admiral," Beckett suddenly said, interrupting him mid-sentence. "I am not allied with the pirates. As well as my wounds being proof of the torture I endured with them… I can prove my loyalty to the Crown in another way as well."

"And what would that be?"

Beckett took in a deep breath. _This is it. My chance for redemption._

"I know where the now defenseless _Black Pearl_ is making berth next."

Immediately Morgan was intrigued. This was the very ship he was interested in. The only real lead to finding the key for the Dead Man's Chest.

"The _Black Pearl_, you say?" he muttered, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. And in revealing the _Pearl_'s whereabouts, I would request that I be pardoned from all the false charges against me, and be instated into the Royal Navy as an officer—perhaps the rank of Lieutenant."

Admiral Morgan let out a little laugh.

"Quite the steep bargain you drive, for a man of such currently low status. I'd hope that there'd be some advantage for me into entering this agreement. Why do you think the pirates can be defeated _this_ time, being as they defeated your ship as well as your entire fleet several months ago?"

"They are hurting… Sir." It pained Beckett to say the word, but the smile he received from Morgan made it all worthwhile. "The battle with the _Dutchman_ and the depletion of their supplies on sinking the _Endeavour_ has cost them the entirety of their gunpowder and cannonballs. When I escaped the ship, they had run out of food as well."

"_You_ escaped the _Black Pearl_." It was a question, but came out as more of a statement of disbelief.

"Yes," Beckett replied, feeling Morgan's gaze penetrating into his forehead. It was rather unnerving. There was a rather long pause.

"Go on," Morgan finally said, his eyes sparkling with interest.

"The _Black Pearl_ is in a direly weakened state and would be easy to overcome. However, if we are to catch the pirates_,_ we must leave at once, for I do not know where they will make berth next."

"And where are they making berth?" Morgan ventured to say.

"If you would instate me into the Royal Navy, I would lead your men to the _Black Pearl_." Morgan's eyebrow rose at this comment from Beckett, his mouth becoming stern.

"Not _lead_ your men of course," Beckett corrected, with a subtle eye-roll, "but simply give them a heading for the destination. Once there, it should be relatively simple to capture the pirates—"

"Capture? If I find them, they'd be lucky to live long enough to know who attacked them!"

_But wait—_Morgan mused, _I cannot let anyone know of the key possibly being on the ship. If all the pirates aboard are captured and brought back to me, I can search and question them individually, without needing to inform my crew of the importance of this mission. Yes, that would be best. However, that also means I can't go, because if the captain of the _Dutchman_ somehow informed the keeper of the key of my earlier actions, those bloody pirates will find some way to keep the key from me. Sending a random crew should not cause any undue suspicion from the pirates if indeed they have been informed of my actions upon their allied captain. _

"Yes, I suppose capturing them would be quite suitable," Morgan suddenly replied.

"What?" Julia gaped. "But you just said—"

"Mrs. Morgan, a man can change his mind, can't he?" He gave her a little wink, and she fell silent.

"If I find you to be lying about this, Mr. Beckett, you will be dealt with in the harshest manner that not even an escapee of the _Pearl_ can avoid. You will never be amongst friends again; all will be out for your blood. Do you understand?"

Beckett swallowed, realizing that they had to make haste, or else his explanation of the _Pearl_'s destination would be no longer accurate—and would thus be rendered a lie.

"I understand," Beckett replied, speaking slowly and carefully. "I would only hope that until the point at which we have captured the pirates, that you will give me the benefit of the doubt. I offer this information to you in exchange for a pardon in all the false allegations brought against me."

"Mr. Beckett," Morgan suddenly stated cordially, extending a hand to the shorter man. "I believe that you have been instantaneously absolved of all charges. I will, of course, present this to the High Court so that you are not arrested elsewhere under the same charges. You will be drawn up a Full Pardon there, being as I have not yet acquired the sort of paperwork to write up such a document."

"And what of my instatement—"

"Ah, that. Yes… well, I think it suitable that you should remain a crewmember aboard the ship until you return to Southampton with the pirate prisoners in tow. It is then that I will award you the ranking of midshipman. Does that sound fair to you?"

Beckett considered for a moment. _I could have very well been executed today, and instead I'm being offered a Full Pardon and a position as an officer—though not as high as I would have liked, it is the best I can do for the moment._

"Yes… Sir," Beckett muttered, bowing to the taller man. The pair shook hands and sealed their agreement.

After requesting the disrobement of Beckett to reveal the wounds, and after hearing of Beckett's knowledge of the _Black Pearl_'s next destination and the implications that capturing the infamous pirates aboard would have on the psyche of all pirate-kind, the High Court granted Cutler Beckett the full pardon.

A large ship of the Royal Navy was stocked with ample supply within the day, Beckett overjoyed that he could again possess influence and power. During Beckett's preparation back at the Hampton House, the admiral met secretly with the crewmen of the Royal Navy ship that would be intercepting the _Pearl_ at her next destination.

"Do not reveal to this man the discovery of the Dead Man's Chest," he told the men. "Rumours of treachery run rampant in his past, and if he were to gain control of the Chest, there's no telling what would happen. Already you are aware that he abused his power when in possession of the Chest, leading to the deaths of hundreds of honest men. You must stay silent on this issue. Also, do not fire upon the pirates to kill them, if you can help it. They need to remain alive to be captured and brought back here. The pirates will be questioned as to the hideouts of their pirate brethren, so that we may finally end their reign of terror on the seas. Ah, and one more thing: it is imperative that the _Black Pearl_ be commandeered back to Southampton, where it can then be used against the other pirates. It is, after all, one of the fastest ships ever made."

* * *

"No good," the Turkish doctor said over and over again as he examined Elizabeth. "Oh.. no good."

"What's no good?" she cried, after hearing the alarming phrase one too many times.

"_Gebe_… trouble."

_There's that strange word again. Could he be meaning the baby?_

"Are you referring to my being with child?"

He poked her stomach with his finger. "_Gebe_," he said. "In. No good. Trouble."

"Oh, Jack… my baby!" she cried, looking at the captain, who was noisily chugging down rum next to her, somehow having snatched a bottle of rum along the way. He removed the bottle from his mouth, looking at her with concern.

"I don't know wot to say, luv. But if ye'd like another to take its place, I am up for th' challenge of helpin' create one."

She frowned at him irritably.

"Now is certainly not the time to joke."

"Sorry, Lizzie," he mumbled, flashing her a sheepish grin.

* * *

Cutler Beckett stood on the main deck of the _Intrepid_, a large ship with two gun decks and long nines extending from its bow, though it was not quite as large as the _Endeavour_. The ship had been painted a merry shade of peach, with green paint encircling the numerous gun ports. The captain's cabin was massive, with stained glass windows extending up several stories at the stern of the ship. Beckett couldn't help but long for what once was. _Well, at least I now have a chance to regain the power I once had_.

"Beckett, get to work," one of the crewmen commanded in passing.

_This is just splendid_, he mused sarcastically, moving towards the mainsail that was being untied by several other non-officers. _Am I really that much better off now than I was before?_

_If this ship would happen to fire upon the currently defenseless _Black Pearl_, certainly it would sink her in no time,_ he considered, realizing how high this massive ship sat above the water. Much higher than the _Pearl_ did, that was for certain. _Everyone on the _Pearl_ would probably be killed within an instant if we ambush them._ However, he remembered that Admiral Morgan wanted the pirates captured and so, they would be allowed to live—at least until they reached England.

Beckett stood on deck in the fine clothing he had sorely missed, holding the rigging with the still unblemished hands of a man who had never truly worked, a wig atop his neatly trimmed hair. After the sail had been untied successfully, he patted his breast pocket, where the Full Pardon was stored safely. Finally he was able to feel proper again, a member of high society. Though he wasn't treated as such.

During their travels to Constantinople, though they were obligated to follow the headings he provided, the crew of the _Intrepid_ treated Beckett with an extraordinary amount of disrespect, being as his name had been sullied in the most horrific ways previously. He had been responsible for the deaths of one-hundred-and-twenty-six EITC employees on the _Endeavour_. The Royal Navy crewmen murmured amongst themselves about stories of his treachery, falling silent whenever he'd approach. In addition, Beckett was not supplied a hammock and so had to lie upon the floor, a constant reminder of his time with the pirates.

It was then that he met Peter Longfellow, a cabin boy aboard the ship. Longfellow hadn't wanted to return to his family just yet, and had stowed away in the final moments before the ship had disembarked from Southampton. Being as neither Beckett nor Longfellow was supplied a hammock; they were the only two aboard the _Intrepid_ that had to sleep on the floor. Though he would have never been inclined to speak with this boy in his former reign as the Lord of the East India Trading Company, Beckett had been significantly humbled in his experience with the pirates for so many months.

Longfellow was the only person on the ship who treated Beckett with any kindness. They became fast friends, being as Longfellow himself was ordered around like some sort of slave by everyone aboard— that is, except by Beckett. It had been realized by the former lord that making any kind of positive connection was important—for, upon giving respect to the young Irishman on the _Nessie's Rock_, he had been liberated from his uncomfortable bonds.

One evening several days into their journey to Constantinople, having both been sent to the hold to fetch some supplies, Beckett and the boy struck up a conversation.

"I was supposed to be training to be an officer cadet right now," Peter said ironically, slinging a sack of grain over his back. "Rather than fetchin' everything for everyone like some sort of lapdog."

Cutler cracked a disbelieving smile.

"But you don't look old enough to—"

"I know I'm not old enough, but Lieutenant Mor—I mean, _Admiral_ Morgan promised me that if I convinced the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ to meet with him, he'd put me into training early as an officer cadet."

Beckett's eyes widened. _The _Dutchman_'s returned to the world of the living? But Turner was supposed to stay between worlds. It's not like him to rebel… Certainly he wouldn't already be shirking his duties as captain—after all, he _will_ get to see Elizabeth in less than a decade…_

Longfellow had not been amongst the crew that had been informed by Morgan to keep mum on the status of the Dead Man's Chest. Even if he had been present at the time, however, the boy probably felt enough distaste towards the man to disobey his commands anyway.

"And did you do this for him?" Beckett asked, highly intrigued.

"Yes. I didn't like what he tried to do though. If I had known he was going to try to get the key off of the captain, I would have never gotten involved. As far away as I was at the time, I heard him threatening the captain. I hate myself for the role I played in that. The captain seemed rather nice. He probably wants to kill me now, though."

"The captain of the _Dutchman_, is it Will Turner?" Maybe someone had already replaced Turner as the captain. That would, of course, leave Will officially dead, and Elizabeth available for the taking….

"Yes, Will Turner. But Lieu—I'm sorry—_Admiral_ Morgan wasn't able to get the key from the captain."

"You seem to have problems calling him Admiral. Is there a specific reason for that?"

"I'm sorry. Only a couple of weeks ago he was still Lieutenant Morgan. The morning he showed the chest to Admiral Kensington, the Admiral promoted him for his findings—well, _my_ findings, actually— and dropped dead on the spot. He was old—it was a heart attack. Many people are still in shock that Lieutenant Morgan became admiral in such a way… but I shouldn't talk about that anymore lest someone's listenin' in."

_Very interesting_, Beckett mused. _How convenient for Morgan to gain control of the chest and the Royal Navy in such a close span of time. Too convenient…._

"Getting the _key_ from the captain, you say. What key?" Beckett asked, attempting to steer the subject away from on a subject with which he would be doing ample deep thinking. Of course he knew to what the boy was referring by "key", but had to be absolutely certain, anyway.

"The key to the Dead Man's Chest. I found the chest… it's been nearly two months since I found it. On an island in the Caribbean. The 'Dead Man's Endeavour', we called the island. There was lots of wreckage from the _Endeavour_ on it."

"Oh," was all that Beckett could say. _Does this boy not know my past? Perhaps that's the only reason he's talking to me._

"You were on the _Endeavour_, weren't you?" Longfellow blurted. _Bollocks. Of course he knows,_ Beckett mused.

He nodded at the boy, slinging a sack over his back. He had hoped that he'd never have to recall that point in his life again. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

"I thought it was you," Longfellow did. "You don't have to tell me what happened; I already know. But I get angry with people who blame you for everything. How do they know how they'd act if they had been in your position that day?"

Beckett was pleasantly surprised by the reasoning of this boy. This Longfellow kid really was impressing him. _If I ever acquire the rank of Lieutenant, this boy is going straight into officer training. Mayhap he could be my clerk, just as Mercer had been…_

"Thank you," Beckett muttered, his entire face in a rare smile.

"For what?"

"For what you just said."

"Well, that's what I believe. Even Admiral Morgan, he was always talking badly about you, blaming you for everything. He's not a very honest person. He should have honoured his promise to me, because I could have told him some important information."

"And what would that have been."

Longfellow laughed. Beckett became immediately crestfallen. The freckly, gangly kid was smarter than he looked.

"I know who has the key," Longfellow said, with a mischievous smirk. "And he doesn't. I think that he believes he's gonna find this key on the _Black Pearl_, but I know that it's a girl who has it, an' girls ain't supposed to be on ships. It's bad luck. I know her name, too." He shut his mouth, realizing he had already said too much to the stranger beside him.

_So that's why he was so enthusiastic in giving in to my demands in exchange for this information_, Beckett mused. _Oh, I pray they are still in Constantinople…._

"I'm not telling you who has the key, 'cause I may use the information later to get what I want. Ah, now I see….so _that's_ why he forgave you, bein' as you know where the _Black Pearl_ is."

"Obviously," Beckett replied stonily, face twisted into a grimace. He was already beginning to become annoyed with this boy, who seemed so naïve but was actually quite astute in his observations. Too knowledgeable for comfort, now….

* * *

Beckett and Lizzie reunite in the next chapter! Stay tuned….

And review, if you please!

Preview: "You are officially under arrest by the British Royal Navy," one of the capturers said.

"An' are ye an officer? Puny little thing, ye are. Sure ye not be Cutler Beckett in disguise?"

"No, but you have him to thank for leading us to you."


	15. The Two Captives

A/N: Thanks for your reviews, guys! And to show my appreciation, I finished up this chapter nice and quick!

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Chapter 15: The Two Captives

It had been a week and a half since the _Black Pearl_ had arrived in Constantinople, the Turkish city a wonderful place to lay low, being as no one knew anything about these English pirates. The mainstream Turkish spoken throughout the city made it a rarely visited destination for most other English-speaking peoples, and so the _Pearl_ was safe. That is, until a peach-and-green ship of the Royal Navy, its colours lowered, sailed into the harbour.

Elizabeth's condition had not improved, yet she was permitted to return to the ship, even though Jack had paid the doctor quite a sum to stay nearby in case he was immediately needed. At the moment, she was feeling a strange lightheadedness, in addition to the now numbing pain in her abdomen.

_Please end this pain_, she mused, looking up towards the heavens. Though she hated to think of losing the only physical memory of Will, the pain was utterly miserable and prohibited her from enjoying anything. _I'm so sorry for everything, Will…._

She sat on the main deck of the _Pearl_ in a chair, the only others aboard being Jack, Barbossa, Gibbs, and Joana. The remainder of the crew were in town, currently stocking up on gunpowder, rum, and ammunition. Barbossa was still stowed in the brig, being as Constantinople had no posters offering any reward for his capture. Jack had been disgusted to learn that he couldn't turn in his mutinous former First Mate for a nice sum until they made berth in a country that English speakers frequented. At the moment, Jack was nursing his healing leg, speaking to his daughter in his cabin.

Joana was rewriting her medical book, being as rum had been spilled on the pages. She was disgusted and had been brought to tears by this happening. This book was her only medical reference. The training she had as a doctor's assistant was the only kind of help she could be to her father and his crew, and several drops of rum had been all it had taken to dash the dreams she had of being indispensable in the doctoring respect.

Now that Elizabeth had been taken to a local doctor, Jack's daughter couldn't help but feel slighted by her father's lack of trust in her own abilities—even though Elizabeth's problem was quite overwhelming. _Maybe it's better this way_, she mused, attempting to copy the book in both English and Portuguese. _I think the baby is still surviving. She still looks to be pregnant, anyway…._

"I just feel like I failed everyone," Joana told her father, silent tears streaming down her face.

"Why's that, luv?"

"Well, you had to take Elizabeth to a doctor here. I couldn't help her by myself."

Jack gaped at her wide-eyed.

"Joana, wot she has wrong wiv her is serious. Serious enough, even, that th' old doctor takin' care of her now can't even help her. She's still hurtin'. You've probably ne'er even had to deal wiv this sort o' thing before."

"You're right, but I can't help but feel like I should have helped more. I want to be a help to you and your crew, but sometimes I feel like a burden…"

"There's nothin' more you coulda done. An' you've been a great help to me an' me crew; are you kiddin' me?" He lifted up his bandaged leg. "Look at me leg. Might be infected were it not for you."

"Anyone could have done that for you," she said, flipping through the ruined pages of her medical reference book.

"Even if that was so, _you_ was th' one who actually did me leg up. If we were bein' sought out here I may even be able to escape—err, _defend_ meself on foot now, thanks to you."

"That may be taking it a bit far," she said. "It's a shame that you always need to avoid the law. Don't you ever wish you could just go where you want without the possibility of being killed or arrested?"

"No matter wot side o' the law one's on, there is always the eminent danger of bein' killed."

"But as a pirate, you have entire companies of people after you. The East India Trading Company. The Royal Navy."

"Had I been in either of th' latter two groups, I'd have the pirate company after me. One less group, but twice as threatenin', so it evens out. Wot, do you not like the life of a pirate?"

"It's not that—it's just, we'll never be able to walk freely about, for example, Southampton or London—or any other place where the EITC or Royal Navy has influence."

"True that we—well, _I_—cannot walk about wivout disguise in those places, but it can be done _wiv_ disguise. Either that or lots o' weaponry an' the moon high above."

"That seems like too much of a risk."

"Luv, if it's wot ye want, th' risk is worth it," he replied, flashing her a toothy grin.

"I don't think anyone in town speaks English--or Portuguese, for that matter," she muttered irritably.

"Wot, luv?"

"There's no one new to meet in this huge new place. I always dreamt of traveling the world, meeting new people, sharing knowledge."

"Surely, you can do that...You'd just have to be doin' all the sharin' on your ownsies."

"Ha, ha."

"Are you not happy wiv your new life so far?"

"Oh, I'm happy; it's just not exactly what I expected."

Jack could see something was amiss. _She looks troubled. Does she not like this sort of existence? Well, I can't say I didn' try to help her see its charms. Certainly it is not the life for everyone._

_

* * *

_

It was a beautiful day and Elizabeth was glad to get some direly-needed sunshine, even though her condition had only very slightly improved. The ship bobbed gently in the harbour as she faded in and out of an odd sleep while lounging on main deck, noticing in her bouts of consciousness a ship approaching from the west.

Gibbs was passed out in his cabin, several bottles of rum having done him in for the day. A Turkish prostitute slept beside him, glad for a bit of down-time. She had spent the last several nights with him and hadn't understood a single word he said, though she had picked up on his name – Gibbs. Though the idea of foreigners all around her was a bit disheartening, it was nice to be able to get to relax, and get paid at the same time. Mr. Gibbs was taking full advantage of this sort of vacation spent in Constantinople. Even though he was still irate with Barbossa for attempting to leave Jack and himself behind, Barbossa's choice of destination had been the best so far.

* * *

The skinny cabin boy Peter Longfellow had managed to get his hands on a telescope, and handed it to Cutler Beckett as they stood aboard the _Intrepid_ in its approach into the harbour. An ambush on the _Pearl_ had been planned, a group of redcoat-free Royal Navy sailors waiting aboard the large ship of the line.

Upon extending the telescope and focusing on the various ships in the harbour, Beckett recognized their target. The black ship, its sails furled, floating unawares in the harbour.

"It's the _Black Pearl_," he muttered aloud to himself.

"Lemme see." Immediately Longfellow snatched the telescope from him and saw for himself the infamous ship.

The _Intrepid_ sailed into the harbour several docks away from the _Black Pearl_, any sign of the Royal Navy aboard hidden, for now all above deck were the members dressed in plain linens—except for Beckett, who had brought no plain clothing with him. He never wished to return to those days of poverty, though he did pack away his coat and waistcoat so that he could appear a bit less conspicuous. The plainclothes crewmembers planned to ambush the _Pearl_ in this state, with the specific instructions from Morgan to capture as many crew as possible, Captains Jack Sparrow and Barbossa in particular.

Soon the _Intrepid_ was moored to the dock.

The men preparing to ambush met below deck for one last discussion of strategy. Beckett slipped in behind the group of men, completely ignored.

_I must go with them_, he mused. _It's not like they'll even notice I'm tagging along. The only aspect of my dress hinting at my status is my wig and boots… _

The group of fifteen men trailed by Beckett crept quietly off the _Intrepid_, strolling casually along the docks in small groups so as not to appear overly suspicious to anyone who might be watching from the deck of the _Pearl_.

As the other men wandered about the harbour, strolling towards the city and its vendors, some of them even purchasing wares, Beckett made a beeline for the _Black Pearl_. _I have to warn Elizabeth. I do not want her arrested, stripped of that key, and most likely hanged because of me._

The _Black Pearl_ loomed high above his head as he strode in front of her bow, making his way for the gangway.

_The ship is oddly silent_, he mused. _Mayhap no one is aboard…. I would only hope that Elizabeth is in town right now…._

Forgetting the nature of his appearance, Beckett walked right up the gangway of the _Pearl_ as if he owned the ship.

Beckett ducked as he reached the main deck, keeping himself as low as possible so he could peek around for crew on deck. He saw a woman slouching in a chair, though couldn't see much more detail.

_Oh, there's Elizabeth. She's like a fowl waiting to go to slaughter. I must go to her, warn her to leave the ship…._

He crept slowly towards Elizabeth, who appeared to be fading in and out of sleep. Within moments, he was standing in front of her.

"Elizabeth." Her name came out choked and awkward. One of her eyes woozily opened, the other soon following.

Immediately both eyes went wide, and she pulled herself to a stand. When she spoke, her voice was laced with venom.

"Oh, so you actually followed through—"

Beckett watched in shock as Elizabeth lost her balance mid-sentence, catching her just as she collapsed into his arms.

"Elizabeth; what's wrong with you?" he stammered, utterly confused. She was only able to moan, and attempt to squirm, to no avail. Suddenly he remembered the fast-approaching Royal Navy men.

With arms wrapped around Elizabeth's back, Beckett leaned over the gunwale, seeing that the Royal Navy men must have gone off in their respective directions so as not to draw attention to their closing-in ranks.

"Are you ill?" he asked, gravely concerned by the manner in which she was acting.

Elizabeth's eyes opened slightly as she glared up at him, spitting onto the side of his face.

"Like you care… you coward of a traitor."

The words she had uttered felt like a slap across the face. _I didn't have any other choice,_ he mused. _Bloody stupid Sparrow and Barbossa tried to kill me, threw me off the bloody ship all bound up like a fly caught in a spider's web. It's a miracle I escaped. Stupid girl probably doesn't even realize what happened._ He opened his mouth to prepare to explain his impromptu exit from the ship.

Suddenly Elizabeth was gazing into his eyes, her eyes watering. She looked as if she was close to losing consciousness, her mind slipping in and out.

"Cutler, I'm losing the baby," she cried, shifting one hand around between their bodies so that it was now clutching her abdomen. "I think I'm dying inside."

_So there's no way she can just simply run off the ship and hide out elsewhere… What am I going to do?_ He then recalled a plan he had devised, had the situation called for this sort of thing…. Of course, he had hoped that _she'd_ be the one electing to tag along, rather than being forced, as it would most certainly now be….

"Elizabeth, you can no longer be referred to by your given name—and especially not your married name, as long as until I tell you it is safe; do you understand? I shall call you—Jane Collins. Alright? You cannot reveal your real name to anyone."

"What—"

"Just listen to me. This is life or death. Your name for the time being is Jane Collins—"

She smiled weakly at him, attempting to regain her footing. Quietly she spoke to him as he held her against his chest.

"My name is Jane Col—"

"Beckett, what the bloody hell are you doing up here? What if you'd blown our cover, what with your bein' all wigged up like a bloody officer." The man then noticed that Beckett was grasping hold of the limp form of a skinny woman with bloated belly, her face and hair soaked with sweat, eyes only half-open.

"Ah, a female pirate," the Royal Navy crewman replied. "Jus' the sort of creature Morgan was lookin' out—"

"Actually, she was being held as a prisoner aboard," Beckett interrupted. "She is not a pirate."

"An' how would you know anythin' about that?" the man shot back.

"As you recall," Beckett said with irritation, "I was aboard this ship for several months. This woman was being held captive in my last couple of months aboard, and was being poisoned slowly by the pirates. I tried to take her with me when I escaped, but she was very ill. You can see that she is still in dire condition."

Elizabeth was slowly slipping out of his grip, and he used his knee to prop her back up against his chest, arms still wrapped around her back.

"Yes, I do see that, but Admiral Morgan specifically requested that _all_ pirates on the ship are captured and returned to England—"

"Of course, but this is not a _pirate_ woman. She was taken as a _captive_, and because of her status as a captive, was poisoned by the pirates."

"And what of other women? Morgan seemed to think that this ship has bona fide women pirates aboard."

"I can tell you with certainty that there are two captive women… one poisoned and one starving… whatever remaining women aboard are indeed pirates. This woman is simply a very sick captive."

_Hopefully I can leave the ship with Elizabeth before they find no other females aboard. Never thought I'd have to physically drag her from the bloody ship… The only reason for sparing Joana from the cruel fate awaiting Sparrow and Barbossa is that Luiza was her mother. Having both their deaths on my conscience would be awfully distressing to deal with…_

Beckett gently moved Elizabeth back towards the chair, where he lowered her limp body onto the seat of the chair. She slumped down, seemingly unconscious.

Just at that moment Joana arrived on deck wearing the extravagant dress that Barbossa had lent her. For several seconds, Beckett could only gape at the unfamiliar woman, but then saw her glare at him suspiciously. Recognition came to him upon the familiar spiteful glare, the curly auburn hair.

_It's Sparrow's daughter—but what's she doing wearing that sort of dress?_

"Ah," Beckett suddenly asserted, moving speedily towards her. The Royal Navy man made a move to follow, but Beckett held a hand up to stop him.

"This is the other captive, the starving one," Cutler said quietly to his male comrade. "She is still wearing the dress she was kidnapped in from her family in the Azores." He turned his head to look at the Royal Navy man, ignoring the glare of hatred and confusion from Joana. "Do you know Portuguese?"

The Royal Navy man fervently shook his head. Beckett certainly had the charisma to get what he wanted—when his name wasn't being sullied the whole world through. And the fact that this woman was unhealthily skinny and wearing such fine, un-pirate-like attire, it was easy to believe that she could indeed be a captive.

"Not a word," he replied, shrugging.

"Well, you'll be no help in calming this woman down. She's probably frightened out of her wits."

"What are you talking about—" Joana began to say in a high-pitched yet quiet murmur.

"Eu vou te deixar escapar," Beckett said to her. "Você não deve continuar aqui, caso contrário voce será preso."

"What?" she replied, utterly lost. She glared daggers at the Royal Navy man behind Beckett.

Beckett took several more steps towards her, backing her up against a breach in the starboard gunwale. Joana looked about herself nervously, and then narrowed her eyes at the hated man in front of her.

"Fale algo em sua lingua nativa," Beckett murmured, smirking arrogantly at her. "Anything."

"Eu te odeio, seu bastardo traitor!" Joana roared. "E eu não irei permitir que você prenda meu pai, não sem uma luta! Eu não hesitarei em te matar."1

1-Translation for Joana: "I hate you, you bloody bastard of a traitor! And I am not going to let you take my father, not without a fight! I will not hesitate to kill you."

During her diatribe, Joana foraged about the corset of her dress for something, yanking out a pistol. Beckett sighed and peered over his shoulder at the Royal Navy man. Unexpectedly, before Joana could even aim the pistol she had just taken out of her dress, Beckett lunged at her, shoving her backwards off a breach in the gunwale of the ship, pistol still in hand.

"What the bloody hell did you do that for, ye nitwit?" the Royal Navy man said, rushing over to the gunwale.

"She told me in Portuguese that if she wasn't going to be freed from the ship immediately, that she had a gun ready to take her own life. And certainly a gunshot isn't what we need at the moment, to alert the remainder of the ship."

"Really," the man said, glancing at Beckett suspiciously. "But we would have rescued her, so that wouldn't have been a problem. Why did you feel the need to do—"

He then looked down at the water, realizing that the woman had just what Beckett had said and was now aiming up at them, pulling the trigger to no avail, being as the gunpowder was now wet.

"She's not supposed to be trying to shoot at her rescuers!" the gullible Royal Navy man said, gaping down at her. Thankfully for Beckett she was not saying anything intelligible, instead cursing at him in pure Portuguese.

"She was being starved to death. Drives a person to madness… irrationality," Beckett explained, glad for the indisputable skinniness of Joana.

He looked down at her, as she screamed up at him in Portuguese waving the useless firearm about.

"It's too bad she wanted to be freed so soon, being as she'd probably get the proper nutrition she needs when we return to Southampton," Beckett declared, speaking to the other man as they leaned out over the gunwale.

"Well, that's one more mouth to feed that Morgan wouldn't even be interested in," the Royal Navy crewman replied. The dress she was wearing was certainly not pirate attire. It was the attire of royalty, to say the least.

"True. It's better that we not have a half-mad half-starved captive accompany us to Southampton," Beckett announced with a smirk.

Joana fell silent. _Southampton._ _If I ever make it there I'm going to kill him. If this bloody gun would work I would kill him where he stands._

The two men moved away from the gunwale.

"Right you are. She didn' look to weigh more than my 10-year-old," the Royal Navy crewmember commented with a chuckle.

_Thank goodness for her taking after her mother in cursing in solid Portuguese, Beckett mused, _a subtle smirk crossing his face at the sound of the harsh words coming from such a feminine form. _The man needn't know the traitorous act against the Crown I have just committed in pushing Jack Sparrow's daughter, such leverage potential, off the ship. _

It was then that Beckett remembered Elizabeth's state and turned around abruptly, startling the Royal Navy man. Soon another Royal Navy man had arrived on the main deck.

"The pirates are below," Beckett told the two men grimly, moving towards the still form of Elizabeth. "If we don't make haste in their capture they may become aware of our presence."

As several more Royal Navy men made their way aboard the _Pearl,_ Beckett directed them to below deck as he squatted down in front of Elizabeth.

Soon he had scooped her limp body up in his arms, and had begun carrying her down the gangway, when he was stopped by a Royal Navy officer.

"And what do you think you're doing, Mr. Beckett?"

"You see this woman I have in my arms. She was taken as a captive by the pirates and poisoned by them. While I was captive aboard the ship I was witness to this horror."

"Are you sure she's even alive?" the man replied. The girl truly did look ghastly. Her face was drained of all colour and was drenched with sweat. Her hair was a rat's nest of sweaty tousled strands, and her stomach had some sort of odd bloat, though the rest of her body was stick-thin.

Beckett blanched at the comment, staring down at Elizabeth's chest to see it very slightly rise and fall.

"If she is still alive, I must see to it that she gets medical attention."

"Where do you propose she go? Some sort of heathen doctor from here?"

"Well, I…" he stammered. Elizabeth was regaining consciousness, which wasn't ideal at this point in time. He saw her blink as if confused.

"We have our own medics," the officer replied. "You can bring her onto our ship. What's this woman's name?"

"Jane," Elizabeth muttered in a gurgled whisper. "Collins."

"Jane Collins," Beckett repeated with a smirk of confidence, looking down at her.

* * *

Beckett took his time returning to the _Intrepid._ With Elizabeth's dead weight in his arms, it was a good deal slower getting around, and he strolled slowly along the docks, watching the occasional trio of men breaking from a steady walk along the main avenue of town and head for the _Black Pearl._

"Jane," he murmured quietly to the woman in his arms. "Jane," he repeated a bit louder.

"What?" she muttered, her eyes still shut.

"Have you sought medical attention for your sickness—"

"Yes… it hasn't helped."

"Are you still carrying the child?"

"Yes… but I don't know if he's healthy anymore."

"_He_?" Something suddenly occurred to Beckett.

"Based on the nausea and the way it sits in my belly, it is likely a boy."

"And you heard this from…"

"The doctor in the Azores," she moaned.

He blinked, realizing she had not mentioned this particular fact to him before.

"I can't lose him," she said, clutching his coat with white-knuckled hands. "Help me."

_No, you most certainly can't lose him_, Beckett mused, smiling grimly.

It was then that he noticed a large stack of crates piled up in a cluster off the main boards of the dock. Still carrying Elizabeth in his arms, Beckett stepped behind the stack of crates quickly, hidden from view, yet peering very subtly between crates to watch any action aboard the _Pearl._

_

* * *

_

Jack Sparrow sat in his cabin, realizing that his daughter still hadn't returned. He was grateful for the peace and quiet his newly fixed windows afforded him. Yet it was unnerving that Joana had been gone for some time now. He made a motion to stand but suddenly his cabin door was flung open, two plainclothes men entering with muskets.

"May I ask you gentlemen wot you think you are doin'," he said as casually as possible.

"Jack Sparrow, you are under—"

"_Captain_," Jack corrected, eyes wide with insistence. The men looked confused at first, then realizing his meaning, rolled their eyes in unison.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow, you are under arrest by the British Royal Navy. If you even try so much as to get away, you will be killed where you stand."

The pirate captain flashed a smile of confidence, of mild amusement. His leg throbbed, functional enough to limp away but not to run.

"Well, wot if I _crawl_ away instead?" Their presence, though startling, seemed to amuse him. _I'm goin' to kill bloody Barbossa for this… after all, it's his fault for bringin' us here._

"You can try to do so, but you won't get far. I recommend you come quietly," the officer said.

"Oh, is that right?" Jack muttered, moving his hand ever so slowly towards the drawer of his desk.

"Keep your hands where we can see 'em, pirate."

Suddenly Jack's eyes went wide with fear and alarm, focusing on something behind the men.

"Wot's that?" Jack stammered, pointing behind the men.

* * *

Predictably, both Royal Navy men turned to look behind them. Jack used this moment of inattention to leap behind the divider between his and Joana's sleeping areas. Once behind the divider, he pulled out Beckett's tiny pistol and shot right through the fabric.

An aggrieved yell and a loud thud told him he had hit his mark.

"You're going to pay for that, Sparrow!" the other Royal Navy man said, firing the musket at the hole in the curtain.

Of course the pirate captain had already moved to the floor, on his belly fishing for another gun under Joana's makeshift bed.

Soon Jack was aiming another pistol at a wall of fabric, the subtle sound of creaking floorboards the only indication of where the surviving man was at present. Without hesitating, he shot right through the curtain again, hearing another pained sound and another thud.

"Got 'im," he said quietly but triumphantly, from his position on the floor. He very subtly lifted the curtain, seeing the unblinking stares of the two Royal Navy men that had confronted him. _I'd better get out of here before more show up_, he mused, rising off of the floor in silence.

* * *

Royal Navy officers and crew from the _Intrepid_ continued to infiltrate the _Black Pearl_, their weapons drawn. _So Beckett had been right in knowing where the pirates were making port,_ each of them mused. Truth to tell, once they had realized Beckett was leading them to Constantinople, they figured he'd abandon ship once they made berth, and he'd disappear in the sprawling city. He hadn't been seen since they docked, so it was still possible he could have ran off…

Barbossa, Gibbs, and the Turkish prostitute had not been difficult for the Royal Navy men to capture. After all, the ex-captain was being restrained in the brig, and Gibbs and the whore were asleep. Once they had been captured, however, they were quite noisy.

"What be the meanin' o' all this?" Barbossa shot, as he was dragged up to the main deck. The plainclothes men who had captured him had not revealed their identity.

"You are officially under arrest by the British Royal Navy," one of the capturers said.

"An' are ye an officer? Puny little thing, ye are. Sure ye not be Cutler Beckett in disguise?"

"No, but you have him to thank for leading us to you."

* * *

Yay! I updated quickly! If you want to know what Beckett said in Portuguese to Joana, you can use a translator… however, I didn't include the translation here, so it's kind of a mystery what he said to Joana... at least for the non-Portuguese-speaking reader...


	16. Docs, Drugs, and Departures

A/N: Thank you everyone so much for your reviews! I am overwhelmed with joy! And so here is the next installment!

* * *

Chapter 16: Docs, drugs, and departures

* * *

Jack Sparrow stepped out from behind the curtain separating his and Joana's quarters, peering down distastefully at the two dead men lying across the threshold of his cabin. He clicked his tongue thoughtfully, a satisfied little grin on his face.

"If you had lived, you'd realize today was th' day you _almost_ caught—"

"Stay where you are!"

The dreadlocked captain's head shot up. A slew of plainclothes men had appeared right outside his door, all aiming various firearms at him. Jack looked behind him and to both sides, but there was no way he could get away from this many men—and live to tell the tale.

"Put your hands up, Mr. Sparrow!"

Jack shook his head slowly, his mouth in a sort of smile, jaw set with defiance.

"What? You're not going to do as we say?"

"I believe you have forgotten th' respect that is due to my well-earned title of _Captain_ Jack Sparrow."

"Well, _Captain_, if you don't put your hands up immediately, you won't have to worry about titles anymore, because all dead men are nameless!"

"Who are you people?" Their state of casual dress made it impossible for Jack to determine what legion they were—if they weren't just a group angry civilians. Surely they had to be somebody important, to actually speak British English in such a place as Constantinople.

"Royal Navy. And you are under arrest, _Captain_!"

The pirate captain looked to be considering. _Where's Joana?_ She had gone to the main deck some time ago. Maybe she had been captured and was in fear of death. Perhaps he should consent to capture, in case he should need to comfort her. His leg throbbed, reminding him of his handicap. For some reason the men had not shot him on the spot. It didn't make any sense, really. If the Royal Navy was willing to capture him, certainly they would not have killed Joana, so perhaps she was waiting for him wherever they were planning on taking him. _Mayhap they'll refrain from killin' me if I do wot they say._ _Aye, that's wot I mus' do_, he mused. _For me daughter's sake…_ Yes, that sounded much more chivalrous than the desire to save his own skin.

* * *

Beckett carried Elizabeth from behind the stack of crates onto the _Intrepid_. He ignored the perplexed stares from the crew remaining on the ship.

Without answering any of the murmured questions from crew as he passed them, Beckett went directly to the captain of the _Intrepid_, who was standing at the helm, a telescope to his eye as he watched his men leading the pirates off of the _Pearl_.

"Sir," Beckett stated, clearing his throat. The captain removed the telescope from his eye and looked at the bewigged man quizzically. He then gaped down at what looked to be a dead woman in Beckett's arms, her pale body drenched with sweat.

"Who is that?" he said accusingly, pointing down at the woman.

"This is a prisoner who was aboard the _Black Pearl_. She was kidnapped shortly after I was taken aboard the ship, and has been poisoned by the pirates. I would have taken her with me when I escaped, but she was too sick to go with me then. As you can see, she's near death and is in dire need of a doctor. She's been ill for far too long."

"And what of the doctors in Constantinople? Surely they—"

"No one in this city speaks a word of English. Seeing a doctor here would get her nowhere."

"I see. Well, we have our own doctor," the captain replied. "She can be looked at by him. However, I don't know what illness she has, and I don't want my men exposed to it. You'll have to keep her aboard the _Pearl_, being as we are taking that ship back with us as well. Our medic will accompany you over there, being as it seems we'll have no casualties from this ambush."

"Alright," Beckett stated quietly. _Now, if I can just get off this ship without Longfellow seeing me…_

He left Elizabeth briefly on the main deck of the _Intrepid_, covered head to toe with a longboat cover he had found lying aboard, as he went below deck, returning donned in his waistcoat, coat, and hat, carrying a blanket for Elizabeth.

Being as the shape of the _Pearl_'s brig was sub-par, Jack, Barbossa, Gibbs, and the Turkish whore were marched over to the _Intrepid_.

Meanwhile, accompanied by a Royal Navy medic named Dr. Stillwell and a burly Royal Navy crewman lugging Elizabeth's body along, Beckett headed back over to the _Black Pearl_. Beckett had thrown the blanket over her body, claiming that she seemed cold, but mainly so as to hide her from the pirates, in case they should cross paths. _No use having them say her name…._

"The truth is, Mr. Beckett, though you have always been a disagreeable sort, I find it hard to believe that you spent as long as you did with the enemy, on the proper side of the law all the while."

"How can you say that," Beckett replied blandly, looking affronted. "You've known me for more than a decade. I have always been loyal to one cause."

"Yes. _Your_ cause."

Beckett flashed him a spiteful glare.

"Well, we shall see the status of your relationship with the pirates. Here they come now."

The former lord ceased to look at the doctor, jerking his head up to see Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, Gibbs, and a scantily-clad women being led towards the _Intrepid_.

"You go ahead with the girl," Beckett directed the Royal Navy crewman, masking the nervousness in his voice. "I do believe I have some words to exchange with these heathens."

The crewman carrying Elizabeth strode right past the pirates without attracting any attention.

_Thank God_, Beckett mused, watching the pirates getting nearer and nearer to him.

The two groups stopped when they were side by side, the Royal Navy men accompanying the pirates sticking out an arm to halt Beckett and the doctor.

Beckett couldn't help but smirk triumphantly at the pirates who had tried to kill him, the pirates who had tied him up and threw him off the _Pearl_ to drown.

"So you lived," Jack said, sneering. "Didn' think you had it in you. An' to think, I always supposed one such as yourself couldn't swim."

"Well, you thought wrong," Beckett stated arrogantly, the familiar smirk on his face.

"Had to set th' whole godfersaken Royal Navy after us, did ye?" Barbossa raged, giving Beckett the death stare. "Couldn't find an' kill us yerself now, could ye?"

"Like I said, Barbossa, once a coward, always a coward," Jack replied coolly. "Probably would've stayed wiv us forever had we not jettis—"

_Oh no. They're going to weaken my escape-from-the-_Pearl_ story if he is allowed to reveal what actually happened_._ At least when they're on the _Intrepid_ and I'm on the _Pearl_ they can't prevent me from returning to Southampton._ Beckett thought quickly. To prevent Jack from continuing, and because he hated him anyway, Beckett sucker-punched Jack square in the jaw.

Still held fast by his shackled arms, Jack staggered backwards several steps. He had not expected such an action from the ever-indifferent Beckett. The Royal Navy men could see this getting out of hand soon.

"Oi, ye've gone an' done it now—" Jack fumed, spitting out a gob of blood.

"Enough, enough," a Royal Navy officer stated, yanking hard on Jack's chains to interrupt his threat to Beckett. "Now, I stopped you for a _reason_, Beckett. There's been a discrepancy. This woman here, do you recognize her? You said there were women pirates aboard the ship, in addition to the captives. Is this one? She's the only one we found below deck. She doesn't seem to speak English."

"She most certainly is a pirate."

"We didn't capture many pirates from the _Black Pearl_. Only these four. Surely there are others on her crew that were not currently aboard the ship. Are there any others we should wait around for?"

"Oh, well, these are the important four," Beckett replied quickly. _If they should wait around longer, Joana is going to crawl back onto the _Pearl_, and completely defeat my purpose for her._ "It is fortunate that they were the ones aboard. Captains Sparrow and Barbossa, their first Mate, and—" he looked at the woman, grasping for words, "—and the 'Turkish Torrent', a key member of the Brethren Court."

Hopefully by this woman being added to the prisoner list, perhaps the Longfellow boy could suppose this person to be the carrier of Turner's key. She'd never let the child near her, and so the 'secret' could remain safe. And if Morgan had any inclination to believe a woman aboard the _Pearl_ had the key, this would have to be the suspected woman.

Jack, Barbossa, and Gibbs could only stare dumbstruck at the odd admission from Beckett. _Wot's he got against whores, anyway?_ Jack mused. _An' wot in th' bloody hell is he talkin' about? She's dressed in Gibbs' clothes an' her rouge is caked on, for God's sake. _

Jack strongly desired to ask about his daughter, and Elizabeth. And who were these captives that the officer had mentioned to Beckett? During Jack's consideration of what to say, the Turkish prostitute screamed at Beckett in her native tongue, aware that he was implicating her as an outlaw. Her screechy diatribe made it impossible for anyone to speak, and once it was over, Jack opened his mouth to speak—and was yanked forward—hard. Beckett was already walking the other way and was out of earshot. _Well, maybe Lizzie an' Joana were brought to the ship first—bein' as they were above deck when the Royal Navy arrived, _Jack mused._ We'll probably be meetin' up wiv 'em shortly._

The dreadlocked pirate captain turned his head one final time to see the retreating figure of Beckett in the distance.

_I'm goin' to kill that bugger if it's th' last thing I ever do,_ Jack fumed. He stared towards the _Black Pearl_ until he and his scanty pirate crew were dragged below deck on the _Intrepid._

* * *

The _Black Pearl_ had been prepared quickly to set sail so that the Royal Navy would escape the return of the remaining crew that were presumably still ashore. Cutler Beckett, Dr. Stillwell, Elizabeth, and a half-dozen other Royal Navy crew were the only people upon the ship.

Elizabeth's sweat-drenched body was set gently upon the bed of her own cabin by the burly Royal Navy man. Dr. Stillwell stood above her bed, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. He sent the Royal Navy man away and stood silently with Beckett in the room.

"I need to examine her. Can you please step out of the room until I let you back in?"

"Of course," Beckett replied grimly, hands clasped behind his back.

Beckett left the cabin, shutting the door behind him as he stood on the gun deck, pacing without realizing it.

_What in God's name happened to her? She was perfectly fine when I was thrown off the ship. That was less than a month ago. Oh, God, is she going to be another Luiza?_

The door to Elizabeth's cabin was suddenly opened a crack, and the face of the medic appeared.

"She's with child," the medic murmured.

Beckett let out a loud sigh, speaking before thinking.

"Tell me something I don't know."

Immediately Beckett regretted what he had said, and shut his mouth.

"So you _know_ she's pregnant. That's interes—"

"Why is she in pain, doctor?" Beckett blurted irritably.

"This is a very dangerous pregnancy. For the sake of her health, the fetus should be aborted."

Beckett's face paled, and his jaw went slack.

"Aborted?"

The doctor stepped outside the room, closing the door behind him.

"Yes. It would be for her best interest, being as it appears as if the pregnancy itself is causing her ill health. I may have some drugs that will aid in terminating the pregnancy."

"May I speak to her before you commence with—that."

"Yes, of course, but I don't see what purpose—"

Beckett had pushed past him and entered Elizabeth's cabin, shutting the door behind him. The doctor was left standing outside the room.

The former lord walked to her bed timidly in all his splendorous clothing, watching her body heave beneath sweat-soaked sheets.

"Jane," he said quietly, squatting down next to her face. "Jane." He shook her by the shoulders with ever-increasing insistency, and she moaned, attempting to open her eyes.

"What," she mumbled, still half-asleep.

"What happened to you? Why are you ill?"

"Spanish fly," she replied. "I've been fighting it."

"What do you mean by that, _fighting_ it."

"It's making me feel like the baby's coming. But I know it's not time. I've been fighting it."

"Really." This notion perturbed him.

"What did the doctor say? I think I woke up for a couple of seconds during the examination."

"He says that it's the baby causing you this distress, and that for your sake it should be aborted."

Suddenly her head shot up, a clammy hand grabbing his cravat, pulling his head down sharply and practically choking him in the process.

"No. You cannot let them do that. I've been holding on for so long. Please please don't let them kill my baby." Truth to tell, she had been ready to let go… and if the baby would be lost due to natural causes so be it—but she would not voluntarily allow for its death at the hands of the Royal Navy.

"But what if you die. You must think of yourself."

"No, this is Will's last legacy. I cannot—"

"Listen, you cannot mention Will again. Do you understand?"

"Why not?" Her face was turning quite flushed, and it seemed as if she'd be passing out again soon.

"You'd be putting both yourself and him in danger if he is mentioned."

"But what about his baby—"

"I'll think of something," Beckett snapped in a choked voice, trying to wrest his neckpiece from Elizabeth's clammy grip. "I must implore you not to mention your name or your husband's name again, because it may result in the death of one or both of you."

"But Wil—_he_'s already—"

Beckett sat on the bed next to her head, pulling the cravat up with his own hand so as to counter the effect of Elizabeth yanking it down. He realized he had probably already revealed too much.

"I will take care of it. If the doctor comes in, even if you are awake, don't talk to him."

"Alright," she said, releasing her grip on his cravat. "Just don't let them kill the baby—"

And with that, she was asleep again.

Within moments, there was a knocking at the door.

"Yes?" Beckett said expectantly, rising from the bed.

"I have the drugs here, ready to go. Did you inform her of the procedure?"

"Actually," Beckett started, moving towards the doctor. "Because her ailment was caused by Spanish fly, she had decided not to—"

"Spanish fly, in addition to heightening sexuality, is an inducer of abortion. The pirates were probably getting ready to rape her or did rape her, using that concoction on her. How long ago did she take it?"

Beckett gulped, newly aware of the implications. Why _had_ she been given that? It was a question that needed to be addressed when she was well again…. _If_ she would get well again…. _I didn't think it was possible to hate the pirates more than I already do, but I was wrong_, he mused.

"I don't know exactly when."

"Well, it's probably been exerting its effects for quite some time. A little extra, and all that strain and pressure will be gone—"

"No."

Beckett's statement was resolute, causing the doctor to look immediately perplexed.

"What do you mean, no?"

"She has been holding on for so long. This baby—it's very important to her."

"It's probably half-pirate. You said she was taken aboard this ship several months ago? This child is probably the result of being raped by a pirate. I would be ashamed to allow such an abomin—"

"I'm certain that that is not the ca—" Beckett tried to cut in.

"It would be as if I was committing treason to allow the result of some sort of forced—"

"But it's not—" Beckett interrupted.

"It's better for her health as well as for the sake of civilized, God-fearing men to rid the world of pirate-kind bit by bi—"

"It's my child," Beckett suddenly blurted.

"What?"

"It's my child," he stated resolutely.

He glanced over at Elizabeth nervously, her expression not changed. _Thank God she's unconscious right now; I would not want her to attack me for saying such a thing._

"Are you kidding me? How can that be—"

"She….I…" he looked over at her as tenderly as he could manage, at her peacefully sleeping form, the rising and falling of her swollen stomach. "I can't explain, really. She and I had—we _have_ plans for the future. That's probably why the pirates poisoned her, because she was carrying on with their enemy—namely, me. She fell ill shortly after—our… physical relationship began… but I don't know exactly when they gave her the Spanish fly… probably shortly before she fell ill."

Beckett couldn't speak romantically, of love and that sort of topic. Truth to tell, the word _love_ hadn't even occurred to him seriously since the night Mercer decided to kidnap Luiza. And that was many many years ago.

Thankfully Elizabeth's eyes remained lightly closed, breathing steady, and face calm. She hadn't heard a word he had said. _I'm certainly digging myself in deep_, Beckett mused. _How am I going to pull myself out of this hole? I've a lot to prove now. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do when she wakes up?_

Dr. Stillwell remembered Beckett's obsession for Luiza, and how badly that had ended. He hadn't actually been the medic on the ship, but had heard of Luiza's illness and subsequent death from other medics relaying medical information amongst themselves.

"But Luiza—" the medic began to say.

"Luiza is dead. And I'm not letting the same thing happen to her," he stated resolutely, praying for Elizabeth to stay asleep.

"Keeping this baby may kill her," the doctor replied solemnly.

Beckett let out a sigh.

"It's what she wants. I'm not going to deny her the child." He ceased glancing over at the sleeping woman to gaze intensely at the doctor. "Our child."

"I had no idea that you and she—" the doctor began, but thought better. "Well, we'll try to get her through this. I'm going to put her on a diet of bland foods. No greens, no meats. Just grains like wheat and oats. Shouldn't be too long before we arrive back in Southampton. What is her name? Maybe I've heard of her family."

"Collins," he said with insistence. "Jane Collins."

"Ah," the doctor replied. "I know some Collins near Oxford, though I'm not sure of—"

"Well, I only just met her aboard the _Pearl_, after we had both been captured by the pirates. I myself can't tell you of her heri—"

"I'm sorry. It's the wrong time for that. I'll arrange for her next meal. Looks like she could use a good meal. Can't be very good for her, starving as well as fighting off that substance—usually a good amount of it results in a quick abortion—and yet, it's been some time, as you first mentioned. She must be very strong."

The medic shut the door of Elizabeth's cabin, leaving Beckett in the room with a sleeping Elizabeth. Immediately Beckett held his breath, for fear of her leaping up and attacking him for implying the things he did. But she remained asleep.

He gazed at her intently as he moved around the bed, squatting down by her head again. There was no need to wake her at the moment, but what if the doctor asked her who the father of the baby was? Would she listen to him and not respond to the doctor, or blurt out something else altogether? _But she looks so calm… I don't wish to wake her. It can wait until later. If I remain here with her and then immediately when she awakens I can explain what I did. Yes, that's what I'll do._

_Certainly that dolt Jack is railing on and on about her and Joana. Hopefully we reach Southampton before the _Intrepid_; that way, I can stow Elizabeth away without Jack knowing. The _Pearl_ is considerably faster than the _Intrepid_ and should arrive first. _

_I wonder if Elizabeth has the key on her…. I know it to not be around her neck, _he mused, grinning impishly as he remembered the scandalous view he had enjoyed in her cabin a few weeks ago. _Egh, that can wait for later as well. I do not wish to explain my actions yet again._

* * *

Meanwhile, in the brig of the _Intrepid_, Jack was fuming. Even though his hands had been shackled in front of him, he had slipped his wrists out through the shackles with the use of lantern oil. He was now attempting to remove his boots from the leg irons with lesser success.

_I guess the desperation before my death-by-Kraken led to a rather important discovery_, he mused, attempting to wipe the slippery substance from his wrists onto the fabric of his breeches. Barbossa could only stare at him with awe from his seated position against the bars with hands and feet shackled.

"Pass the oil," the older captain said to Jack, who was using an outstretched finger to hand the distanced Gibbs some lantern oil. Barbossa was sitting a good deal closer but because his hands were shackled, his reach was greatly shortened.

"Ha, as if I would help you," Jack quipped, passing a large glob to Gibbs again.

"Didn' I apologize already fer what happened to Mrs. Turner? Ye do notice her to not be aboard. Mayhap her state o' health allowed her to be left behind."

"Oi," Jack replied. "I hadn't thought of that. She was in quite dire shape. You recall them mentionin' captives; wonder wot the meanin' o' that was?"

"D'ye think they coulda thought that she be our captive, due to the state she's in?" Gibbs added.

"An' in doin' so, they may have left her behind," Jack said, thinking aloud. "Well, I didn't see her, did you?" Jack looked over at Gibbs.

"No, that I did not, Cap'n."

"Well, in case she was assumed to be a sick captive, let us not mention her name again—" his voice fell to a quiet whisper, "—lest the Royal Navy know that she is indeed the Pirate King an' turn aroun' to fetch her." He glared over at Barbossa. "It is not _her_ condition, but your choice of Constantinople that is your last major misstep."

"Beckett's the one that led 'em to us. It's not me fault that he just so happened to know where to find it."

"A major port city? Oi, tough times, indeed, findin' such a place," he said sarcastically. "An' th' fact that no one here, let alone any bloody doctors, speak a tick o' English has made it especially easy to treat Li—her."

"D'ye know where we're headed?" Gibbs asked the dreadlocked captain.

"No, that I do not. But wot I do know is we need to disembark early, lest they string us up directly upon makin' port."

"Where be the other crew?" Barbossa suddenly railed.

"In town. They'll be quite lost, seein' as their captain an' Firs' Mate and _former_ captain—" he then looked over at the prostitute. "—are gone. I wonder who will take over the _Pearl_. An' wot of Joana?" The last words were said seemingly to himself.

"Ah, 'bout time ye remembered yer daughter," the taller captain shot. Jack gave him a venomous glare.

"Joana was not sick," he retorted. "I trust that she escaped the ship an' is in town now wiv th' others."

_But there was no way she could have missed seein' the Royal Navy. Did she abandon ship upon seein' 'em arrive? I suppose it's possible that she did not want to be arrested for piracy. I don't blame her for not wantin' to pursue my line o' work…._

"Ha, that's what ye _hope_," Barbossa spat.

"You're just upset because your bloody dress is gone."

Barbossa's eyes widened for a moment, as he groaned with disgust.

"Actually, I hadn' thought o' that until now," the older captain said with a grunt.

"Right… you've prob'ly been tearin' yourself up inside thinkin' of the fate o' that dress. Could it have been drenched in seawater?" he teased. "Could it have incurred a tear or—"

The thought of any harm coming to his daughter greatly sickened Jack, and he refrained from saying any more. Barbossa was silenced for his own reasons.

_Me mum's dress is gone forever now. If it indeed be exposed to seawater, it'll shrink like nothin' else. May still fit Joana, howe'er. Skinny little tart… Well, e'en if she survived, the firs' thing she'll prob'ly do is throw it away…_

* * *

"Wot are ye doin' down there, poppet?" Pintel asked, sneering at the skinny girl swimming towards the dock, her waterlogged dress causing her to move very slowly through the water.

"I think a better question to ask me would be what happened to the ship," she hissed back.

Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton suddenly realized the massive absence in front of them. The _Black Pearl_ was gone, Jack's waterlogged daughter left in its place.

"Well… what happened to it," Ragetti asked, after a period of silence.

"The Royal Navy commandeered it," she told them. As they watched in fascination, she heaved herself out of the water, pulling herself onto the dock, her drenched dress hanging heavily on her slight frame.

"How did they find us?" Marty queried.

"Beckett led them to us."

"But I thought he was d—"

"No. He's very much alive."

The men stood about on shore, watching Joana pull herself to a standing position. They enjoyed how the soaked dress clung to her frame. Even so, she looked much like a drowned rat, her curly hair resembling a tangled bed of seaweed hanging from her head.

"What are we going to do now? We don't even know where the _Pearl_ went," Ragetti cried.

"Actually, I do."

The gathered crew awaited Joana's explanation impatiently.

"Beckett revealed it to be Southampton."

"An' why would he do such a thing?" Pintel shot, looking perturbed.

"I don't know."

"Maybe it's a trap," Ragetti added.

"Somehow I don't think so…"

"Well, e'en if it is true, we don' got a ship no more," Ragetti cried, adjusting his eye patch as he stared forlornly at the empty place where the _Pearl_ had once been moored.

"That's not a problem, is it? We can just commandeer another one," Joana exclaimed. "We're pirates."

"Ya mean ta say _we_ is pirates, poppet," Pintel remarked, indicating himself and the men around him. "An' you are the daughter o' one. That don' make you no pirate." Pintel snickered, leering at Joana, rotten teeth on display.

"Who was on the _Pearl_ when they came by?" Marty asked.

"Well, I was….Dad—Jack… Barbossa was in the brig. And Mr. Gibbs was in his cabin with a woman."

"We don't got enough men at present to crew a ship," Ragetti pointed out. "We'd need at least six."

"As I gather, that'd be 'nother one an' a half men," Pintel replied with a smirk.

The remaining three crew could only gape at Pintel in confusion.

"Marty 'ere can only do half a man's job, an' so only counts for half."

"Oh, is that what you think?!" Marty raged. Suddenly the little man lunged at Pintel, knocking him onto his back on the dock. Joana rolled her eyes.

"Are we going to leave soon?"

Ragetti directed his attention at her for the moment, turning away from the two-man tussle on the dock.

"I think it'd be best we sell the bulky goods, an' get us some better weapons. I've only got me empty pistol."

Down on the dock, Pintel shoved Marty off of him, spouting off his opinion on the matter during the hiatus.

"An' I happen ta hear that Turkish lasses are quite the tigresses… least, that's wot I gathered from Gibbs' cabin this past few days."

"So we're putting ourselves at least a whole day's travel behind them," Joana said, obviously distressed.

"Aye, poppet," Pintel said, flashing her a sickening grin. It wasn't long before Marty kicked him in the chin, eliciting a yowl of pain from the taller pirate.

"Don't you want to rescue them before it's too late?!" Joana cried. Ragetti and Cotton nodded very slightly.

Soon Pintel had pulled himself to his feet and was now glaring at Marty, who could only shake his fist at the stringy-haired pirate. He had gotten a few good kicks and punches in, and based on how Pintel had limped to his feet, Marty had been the one to emerge triumphant from the tussle.

"Yeh think four an' a half men—well, three an' a half, bein' as a proper lady such as yerself don't count," Pintel said, sneering at Joana's dress, "can rescue our captains? If anyone can do it, they themselves can."

"There were at least two other men—where did they go?"

"You mean to say, Smith an' Hawkins? I don't got the foggiest idea," Ragetti answered.

"Maybe they got caught while lootin' some poor bugger," Pintel added. "We'll have to keep our eyes peeled for 'em, 'cause then we'd have enough crew. Until then, our poor ol' captured crew's gonna hafta make do wif wot they've got."

* * *

What'd you think of this last update? Tons of people in the next chapter: Beckett, Lizzie, Dr. Stillwell, Joana, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, Cotton, Bootstrap, Palafico, and of course Will! You probably wonder what happened to him!

Reviews are very much appreciated and contribute to the speed in which I update and overcome little bouts and bumps of writer's block!


	17. Jealousy And Despair

A/N: Unlike the depressing-sounding title of this chapter, I am very excited and happy that many are so excited to see more of the story! Here is my next update, as quickly as could be completed!

* * *

Chapter 17 – Jealousy and Despair

* * *

Hours passed as the two ships headed back across the Mediterranean Sea towards Southampton. Beckett kept constant vigil at Elizabeth's bedside, lest she wake up and reveal his earlier untruths to the doctor. He half-desired for her to wake up, yet half-feared her reaction.

As night descended, Beckett was torn. Should he stay here with Elizabeth and risk her possibly killing him in his sleep, or sleep elsewhere and risk her wandering about spouting Will's name to all, as well as bringing the doctor to wonder the truth of his fathering the child?

Dr. Stillwell arrived, bringing some bland foods with him, and examined Elizabeth once again, administering willow bark extract for the pain, his subsequent statements making Beckett's sleeping arrangement decision easy.

"Mayhap you should remain beside her for the night, lest she awake to confusion. I also have the bland foods that she should be fed as soon as she wakes. …She's in rather poor health, Beckett. I must prepare you for the wor—"

"You don't need to explain any further. Of course I'm going to stay with her," Beckett spat quickly, interrupting the doctor.

"Certainly, Mr. Beckett. Don't hesitate to waken me if her condition worsens or—"

"I understand."

The doctor handed him a pouch containing some sort of powder, tied shut with a length of twine.

"If the pain is too much to bear, stir some of this into a drink for her. This is a powerful sedative that will spare her from her pain, at least, temporarily. No harm will come to the child if this agent is used. However, it will render her unconscious for a spell."

"How long?" Beckett asked, glancing over at her briefly.

"An hour or so. Long enough to offer some sort of temporary relief from the pain."

"I see." Beckett tucked the pouch into a coat pocket.

Dr. Stillwell began fishing in his bag for something else. He pulled out another pouch, this one a different colour than the first.

"If she changes her mind about the pregnancy or is in terrible gut-wrenching pain, even though she _will_ lose the baby with this, she has a better chance of surviving," the doctor explained.

"What is it."

"Spanish fly. Here you are." He then handed Beckett the pouch, which was bright red and quite obviously different than the sedative's dull blue pouch.

"Oh. Alright. Thank you," Beckett said to the medic, flashing him a ghost of a smile. He tucked the pouch into his inner coat pocket.

"You're welcome." The doctor soon left the room, watching the unlikely couple with utter stupefaction.

* * *

Beckett walked over to the side of the bed unoccupied by Elizabeth. Realizing the stuffiness of the room and what he had to do, he sighed as he slipped off his boots, waistcoat, coat, and breeches, crawling into bed next to Elizabeth and watching her intently all the while. It was a sort of déjà vu now. Months ago, Elizabeth had been the one to nurse him back to health by allowing him to stay in her bed, while he was recovering from a rather nasty infection. Of course, his infection was caused by wounds she herself inflicted, but she certainly didn't _have_ to help him recover. And yet, she had.

And now, he was in the same position as she had been. He had convinced the Royal Navy that she was a prisoner of the pirates who had been poisoned. His explanations, along with her ill state of health, were enough to convince them of his claims. And now he was claiming to be the father of her child, implying a relationship between them—which wasn't all false. _If indeed this child is male, I may have my inheritance back sooner than first thought…_

His bare calf made contact with her own cold leg, and he shuddered. _Why the bloody hell is she so cold? Is she truly near death? Oh God, don't let this happen again to me… She's been lying under blankets all day. Her body should be much warmer than that_. He timidly extended a hand towards her face, holding the back of his hand in front of her mouth and nose. He felt a very subtle puff of air on his skin, causing relief to wash through him.

_It can't be good for her to be so cold. Mayhap I can warm her—in addition to feeling about for other things. Just to make sure that there's even a reason why I'm having her go by a different name... the godforsaken key has to be on her somewhere…_

Beckett scooted slowly towards Elizabeth, scrutinizing her sleeping face throughout to ensure that she not wake up in a panic. _Of course, she'll do that anyway, once I do this…._

He gently draped an arm across her side, wrapping it around her bony back, as she lie on her side facing him. He moved close enough that his chest was up against hers, the bare skin of their legs touching under the blankets. Shivers ran through him at touching the chill that was her body. Yet now he was too embarrassed to look at her face, if her expression had changed from before.

_Oh, this is too odd_, he mused, staring down at the blanket instead. He tucked the fabric up under his chin and closed his eyes. _She's probably going to kill me when she awakens… _he brushed her icy-cold leg again. _That is, _if_ she awakens._

He had forgotten all about his plans to feel around for the key.

* * *

"Nothing matters anymore. I have to find Elizabeth," Will groaned, sitting in the belly of the _Flying Dutchman_ with his father, as they sat beneath the sea offshore the port city of Southampton. Will's hands had taken up the appearance of brittle starfish, his slender moustache now resembling the short antennae of a shrimp. His hair now had the consistency of seaweed, pulled back off of Will's barnacle-dotted shoulders with a length of ribbon. Bootstrap looked no better than his son, well on his way to returning to his starfish- and barnacle-encrusted days of yore.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Will," Bootstrap mumbled, looking forlorn. "I think it best that since yer heart hasn't had pain in the past couple of weeks, we should assume it's all over and return to our duty ferrying souls."

"My heart now feels pain in a different way. The pain of betrayal—by her. Why do you feel it's not such a good idea for me to find my wife?" Will replied, a rare defiance in his voice.

The older man's head shot up.

"Well, look at us. Surely you wouldn't want her to see you like this."

"I don't care what she thinks of how I look. What happened to me is all because of her anyway. Why does that man have the chest?!" Will raged. "If she had kept the chest safe I would not have had to shirk my duties for the time being."

"His possession of the chest may not be her fault," Bootstrap murmured quietly.

"What are you trying to say? She's still alive, so she and she alone is still in charge of keeping my heart sa—"

"You don't know that fer certain."

"What?"

"Not everyone dies at sea, Will."

Will blinked several times, trying to push that troubling fact into the back of his mind.

"I wager that she must be on the _Black Pearl_," he murmured, seemingly ignoring his father's last comment as he stood up and began to pace about the room. Suddenly Will looked crestfallen. "Which means, she could be anywhere on the Seven Seas…."

"Exactly," Bootstrap said quietly.

"She's with Jack; I just know it," Will muttered.

"Now, you know that's simply not true."

Will shook his head, his shrimp antennae moustache shaking along with it.

"She never did confirm or deny that she was in love with him."

"Well, she married _you_, son. She committed to you. That should mean somethin'."

"It should, but it doesn't—because I can't see her, only every ten years, during which time she could go anywhere… and do anything... with anyone."

"Ye have to be able to forgive her for what she does, Will. Or else…." He looked up at his son, falling silent, his eyes full of sadness.

"Or else what?"

"Or else ye'll—stay the way ye are at present. Deteriorate even further. We all will."

It was then that Palafico appeared in the doorway, his hair having again hardened into a red halo-like coral formation. Barnacles had already begun to appear along his arms and legs, just as when Jones had captained the ship.

"Cap'n, the crew, includin' myself, wonder why we haven't yet returned to our duty between worlds."

Will looked affronted, then disgusted.

"Would you have asked this sort of question of Davy Jones?"

Palafico looked lost for a moment, and then slowly responded.

"No, but we realize that you're not—corrupted like—" Seeing the now apparent antennae, barnacles, and starfish hands on the _Dutchman_'s reclusive captain made Palafico rethink his statement.

"What was that?" Will asked, an eyebrow raised.

"We just want to go back to our duty, to return to human form. Certainly ye'd want to do so as well…."

"No. I've decided. Before we are to return to our duty, I must find the _Black Pearl_."

'Will, you don't really wish to let her see—" Bootstrap started.

"If you'd rather not stay here and suffer with me and the remainder of the crew, I would be happy to grant you an early leave of your original agreement with Jones," Will said, turning to his father. "I'd harbour no ill will if you wish to do so."

"But that means—I wouldn't see you fer a—"

"As if that mattered to you during your life… when you, as you once said, 'left me to go pirating'."

The sarcasm was dripping from Will's voice, his face grim as when Elizabeth had gotten into the longboat after Will had witnessed Elizabeth and Jack's kiss aboard the _Pearl_. Will's statement greatly irked Bootstrap, who had not wished to leave the ship.

"Listen, I've no intention of leavin' you—"

"Up!" Will bellowed at Palafico and the ship in general, as he sauntered towards the open door, and thus, the main deck of the ship. Bootstrap sat in the coralline cabin, the shock he felt over Will's change in demeanor paralyzing him for the moment.

* * *

Shortly after nightfall, Joana, Ragetti, Pintel, Marty, and Cotton had sold what they could and now had a decent armament of weapons to use to commandeer their next ship. However, there was the problem of finding that one final person, one they could trust to merely do work and not fight for captaincy. Truth to tell, none of the remaining crew knew anything about being a captain of a ship… or even a First Mate, for that matter.

The quintet sat down in a smoky tavern packed full of foreigners, carefully eyeing the groups of burly foreign men who would meander through the thick crowd only needing to grunt to get their inferiors to move out of the way. Their inferiors meaning everyone else in the tavern. Pintel held what money had been collected using legal and _less_ legal means, as well as each of the five around the table stowing a couple of pistols per person.

Pintel had bought himself a rather stocky wench for the night, and pulled her onto his lap as he gobbled up what was left of a rather gamy-looking chicken. The older woman, her mousy hair in a tight bun and saggy breasts barely contained in her dress, could only giggle occasionally as he bounced her up and down during his meal.

Joana was fast becoming utterly revolted. _One would think that with all the money he's carrying, he could've afforded someone better than her_, she mused, watching the wench's maddeningly silly expression as she rubbed her hands up and down Pintel's bare chest.

Seeing such a youthful, pretty girl bedecked in the finery of upper class, men would wave money in front of Joana, whispering suggestive things to her in Turkish. Thankfully she couldn't understand what exactly they were asking for in exchange for their currency. It couldn't have helped her case any that her dress had shrunken onto her frame during its saltwater bath and was practically like a second skin. Soon she resorted to outright scowling, hoping that a bad attitude would keep all the lechers away from her. That strategy didn't work either.

_It seems as if all men are the same. They only want one thing from a woman, and then they are done with her. My own father was that way with my mother. All the Royal Navy men and East India Trading Company men on Pico Island. Gibbs. Barbossa. Beckett. Oh, that bloody cur, I shall kill him the next time I see him, even though he believes he did me a favour in letting me live. He shall see…._

Disgusted with the recent turn of events, Joana sat in the tavern with her arms crossed, grateful for the presence of not one but two pistols hidden under her skirts. Even so, it greatly disturbed her to realize that if she needed them, unless the target was very close, she'd never actually fired a weapon before and would probably miss her intended target. _Well, I guess that's what the dagger is for_, she mused, grinning down at the glint of silver down in her corset. _I must practice shooting a pistol someday—if only to punish Beckett for all that he's done._

Smith and Hawkins, AKA Murtogg and Mullroy, at first sign of a sprawling city, had disembarked for good from the pirate ship. The _Black Pearl_ was meant to be a sort of stepping stone off of the doomed _Endeavour_, not a permanent home. Of course, there was the issue with being in a foreign place where no one spoke their language…

Even so, Jack's remaining crew consisted of five members, not even enough to man a ship. Joana could only give Pintel the evil eye as she watched him disappear out of the tavern with the wench, presumably to the inn above. Ragetti glanced furtively at Joana a couple of times but soon lost interest in the sour-looking girl, for a rather plump Turkish woman was soon in his lap, tugging slyly at the coins he held in his hands with a mischievous little grin on her ruddy face.

Soon Joana was alone with the mute Cotton. _I'm certain if he could speak, he'd be just as rotten as all the other men I've met. _The difficult life she had led thus far had embittered her against most everyone to whom she was acquainted. Her father's remaining crew had essentially scattered in front of her, not even caring so much as to seek out a ship and attempt to catch up with the captured captains.

_No sense of decency or loyalty in any pirate… as well as outside of pirate-kind as well. We'll probably never catch up with Father and the rest now. _

Another half-hour of fending off potential suitors and glancing occasionally at the motionless Cotton, and soon Joana slunk off to the inn to get some sleep, hoping the crew not abandon her by daybreak.

* * *

Shortly before dawn, Elizabeth stirred. She found herself surrounded by warmth, and not in the blanket sense. Her eyes slowly opened to a distinctly male presence enveloping her. Of course this wasn't Will; it was—

"Beckett!"

His eyes shot open and arm pulled back instinctively at the mention of his name. Soon he was able to focus upon the reddened face of Elizabeth, who looked to be rather enraged at this point. _Just as I suspected she'd be_, he mused, scooting subtly away from her, eyes locked with hers.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

He sighed anticlimactically.

"It's a rather long explanation, but please hear me out without interruption. Can you do that?"

"Alright," she said huffily, moving her body away from his. She saw the food sitting on the bedside table and picked some off the plate, chewing it thoughtfully. Even so, she glared at Beckett all the while, feeling quite violated.

"I don't know how much of yesterday you remember," he began, "but the Royal Navy showed up and I gave you some specific instructions to follow. I hope that you can recall them."

"It's my name, right? And not mentioning W—"

"Yes," he murmured with a _tsk_, irritation lacing his voice. "You lost consciousness shortly after I found you. I had you brought aboard the _Black Pearl_ to be attended by a Royal Navy medic."

"I remember the medic," she said. Her eyes went wide.

Suddenly Elizabeth shot up in bed, her face as white as a ghost, startling Beckett. She clutched her abdomen, staring at Beckett.

"Oh, please tell me they didn't—"

"Your baby is safe," he said. "However, the medic was rather insistent upon ridding yourself of it for the sake of your own health."

"No!" she exclaimed resolutely.

"Keep it down. Now, the doctor was going to end your pregnancy, but I convinced him otherwise."

An eyebrow went up, as Elizabeth looked down at him from her position against the headboard, his head still on the pillow next to her.

"How?"

He took a deep breath, feeling a strong urge to gulp. Somehow he suppressed the urge. Wanting very much to change the subject, he indicated the food on the table, though she was already picking at the food.

"The doctor said it's important that you eat well during this time."

"What," she sneered, "so in eating this so-called 'food' I can lose the baby?!"

"You flatter yourself and this baby in presuming to be so important. I already told you I've taken care of that. Your baby is safe—for now."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, voice insistent.

"Does it really matter."

"Yes. You'd better tell me how you convinced them or I swear I'll…." Her voice trailed off weakly, and she reached for another morsel of food.

"You swear you'll what," he asked, mild interest in his eyes.

"Do I have to threaten you to find out? I'd rather not, you know. Just tell me what the bloody hell you said to keep them from killing my child."

He sighed, realizing he had lost. His arguments were futile.

"I told them the child was mine."

"What?! How could you!?" she said, the volume of her voice ever-increasing.

"Shh! Do you want them to hear you," he replied harshly. "The medic had assumed the baby was half-pirate—which is, in fact, true. He said that he would be ashamed to bring such an individual into the world. He even claimed it could have been the result of a rape by a pirate. There was no other way the baby could have been saved than by what I had said."

"Why does it matter to them that the baby is Will's?"

_Ugh. Now this is territory I did not wish to enter. I cannot divulge that they know of Will's new captaincy. _

"Because he is a pirate. Both he and yourself were jailed for your piracy-related crimes."

"Why couldn't you have said someone else? Norrington, even!"

"Norrington is dead, as you are well-aware. Rather hard to conceive a child with a man of that status. After all, you never cared much for him anyway; that was obvious enough. To turn him down, a commodore in the Royal Navy, for the blacksmith's appre—"

"Don't you dare tell me what I think of others! You know nothing about me! So do not for one _second_ think you can understand my innermost feelings on anything!"

Beckett had riled her up but he had accomplished his goal of changing the subject. He needn't wish to explain how exactly he had convinced the doctor of their relationship.

"Alright," Beckett said quietly, humbly. Elizabeth was not finished.

"Well, I certainly don't want them thinking that _you_ could possibly have fathered this—"

"It's too late for that now," he snapped irritably. "You're just going to have to play along for the time being, at least while you're pregnant. What difference does it make? Your baby is safe… for now. However, if you go and blather to all its true paternity, you run the risk of losing it."

"My baby would have been perfectly safe had you not set your Royal Navy vultures after us. How can you expect me to treat you with any kindness, any decency whatsoever?"

"You know very well your baby is in danger, and has been for quite some time. You should be thankful that I did what I did."

"Go to hell," she spat viciously, crossing her arms. "They probably killed Jack and everyone else, you bloody turncoat."

"Turncoat? I never declared allegiance to you pirates. I told you that when I was to leave the _Pearl_, I'd do just what I have done."

"Ohh," she raged, "I should have killed you then."

Beckett could only smirk.

"Perhaps. But then, you and your baby would probably not have made it. You've already improved one hundred percent over yesterday. You're welcome, by the way," he added, flashing her an arrogant grin.

"Is that what you've chosen to believe?" she hissed. "That what you've done is helping me? Sentencing Jack and Barbossa and _Joana_ to death? You were probably the bastard who started this all, the one who initially slipped the Spanish fly to me."

He let out a cough of surprise, realizing the implications of what she had said.

"What are you talking about?" he said, face going serious.

"The morning before you left." Suddenly something registered in her, and her expression became sinister. "The tea… You _did_ do it, you—"

He sat up with a start so that his face was now even with her own.

"I did nothing of the sort," he replied coolly, crossing his arms. "What occurred after the tea was all your doing."

At that, Elizabeth promptly slapped him across the mouth.

Beckett shut his eyes, setting his jaw and exhaling through his nose as Elizabeth sat next to him, absolutely livid.

"You're a liar!" she hissed viciously. "It all makes sense now—"

He opened his eyes, looking mildly annoyed at her accusations. His cool indifference to her situation further infuriated her.

"I don't know how you can convince yourself that Spanish fly was the case during—" he began. She interrupted him with growled words.

"Swear to me that you did not slip it into my drink. Go on; swear it."

He sighed, feeling quite irritated.

"I swear, on my father's grave, that what I say is true."

"Your father's grave?! What about your mother? Are you saying he's also—"

"He's dead _now_," Beckett replied nonchalantly, shocking Elizabeth. "He died while I was at sea aboard the _Black Pearl_, thinking I had gone pirate during his final breaths." He scoffed before speaking again. "Utterly disgusts me to even think of that."

"That sounds familiar… Ah, yes, like what _my_ father thought of me as he was being executed wrongfully."

"I thought I had been forgiven for my role in that," he muttered, rolling his eyes. She bit her tongue, trying to let bygones be bygones.

"Well, if you hadn't actually slipped the Spanish fly into my drink, why did you leave the ship directly afterwards as if guilty of something?"

He gave her a half-smile.

"So Sparrow never told you. I should have figured as much."

"Never told me what?"

"Shortly after I left your cabin, he and Barbossa took it upon themselves to tie me up in my hammock and throw me overboard. Somehow I managed to survive."

Her face showed shock.

"Why?" She flashed him a look of suspicion. "What did you do?"

"I existed, I suppose. I did nothing to them to warrant death by drowning."

He wanted so badly to smile at how Elizabeth seemed to now be thinking about the two pirates she had formerly respected, having done this cowardly thing. Instead, he was caught off-guard by her next statement.

"You know what? I _don't_ blame them for what they did to you. After all, if you had died then, they'd still be alive now. They were doing just as you would have done—saving their own skins."

"They are still alive," Beckett replied, grimacing.

"And how would you know that?"

"They were taken aboard the _Intrepid_ as prisoners. The admiral wants them alive for questioning."

"Liar. You're just saying that."

"Tell me, what sort of benefits could I reap from making up such a lie," he replied nonchalantly.

"How would I know?! Maybe you enjoy lying for the sake of it!"

Beckett sighed dramatically, looking bored.

"Let me assure you that I could care less if Sparrow and Barbossa live or die, but the fact of the matter is that they are still very much alive. You can choose whether or not to believe me, but they _were_ captured alive and were taken aboard the _Intrepid_."

"And what of Joana? You know very well she is innoc—"

Beckett rolled his eyes beneath closed eyelids. Apparently Elizabeth had been out of it during his confrontation with the pirate captain's daughter.

"I took the liberty of saving her from imprisonment," he stated. Shockingly, Elizabeth's face went scarily pale, her eyes wide.

"Oh my God, you had her killed…"

"Of course not," he said with a scoff. "I convinced them that she was a captive, and I shoved her off the _Pearl_ before she could say any more."

"How could you have possibly convinced them of that—"

"Simple. I told the men that the pirates were starving her. It helped that she was dressed like bloody royalty at the time, to boot. It's not hard to believe, really."

"So Jack and Barbossa are alive but were captured, and Joana is back in Constantinople?"

"Yes."

"And you swear to me that I have not lost the baby, and that you did not slip Spa—"

"Yes, on both counts."

She gaped at him for a moment, speechless. He took the period of silence to speak.

"See, it _is_ possible for me to do what's right. And all you have to do to preserve your own well-being and that of your child is to go along with what I've already claimed."

"Yes, that the child is yours and that—wait, how could you have possibly convinced them of that? That I—we—"

Beckett suddenly felt very uncomfortable, and in deducing what to say next, forgot to breathe for almost an entire minute. Realizing his face was becoming ever-hotter, he inhaled a new breath, and then spoke.

"Does that really matter. What is important is that I was successful in convincing the medic. No one else is aware of this."

"In fact, it _does_ matter to me, being as I am married to—"

"As if I could ever be allowed to forget," he interrupted irritably. _This is going to be more difficult than I first thought._

_Was that jealousy I heard in his voice_, Elizabeth mused. His facial expression certainly conveyed it.

* * *

So? Do you like this darker side of Will? How about the bantering betwixt Beckett and Elizabeth?

Reviews are very much appreciated and contribute to the speed in which I update and overcome little bouts and bumps of writer's block!


	18. Selling Herself Short

* * *

A/N: Aww, thank you everyone for your thoughtful feedback on all the developments! I'm glad Will is still Will-ish, even though this story looks at a different aspect of his personality. This next chapter is the longest chapter yet, though its title suggests otherwise!

* * *

Chapter 18: Selling Herself Short

* * *

That morning in Constantinople, Joana emerged from her room at the inn, completely convinced that Pintel, Ragetti, and the others had left her behind.

_That ugly wench was probably just an excuse to make me think that Pintel spent the night here. They probably already commandeered a ship and are a night's journey away from here. I should never have revealed to them the exact place Jack and Barbossa were taken to. And now I have been abandoned in a foreign city, where no one speaks either of the languages I speak._

She sat down glumly on a stair, gazing at the dress which now fit her less than perfectly.

_If they did leave me behind, there's going to be no way I can convince random Turkish men to join me in heading for Southampton. What in the world am I going to do now?_

Suddenly Joana was startled by the sound of a loud male yell coming from the room across the hallway. She stood up quietly and creaked open the door to see the bare back of Pintel sitting on the bed facing the headboard as he let out another pained yell.

* * *

"Pintel, what's the matter with you?" she cried, moving towards him.

He looked back over his shoulder at her, shooting her the nastiest glare, which faded soon after he had recognized her.

"I don' think that's any o' your concern, _poppet_," he said spitefully.

"By yelling aloud and scaring me out of my wits, you've made it my concern."

Suddenly Ragetti was at the door, his good eye wide with fear. Upon seeing that Pintel was alright, he sighed with relief, expression no longer frightened.

"Wot happ'ned, Pintel?" he asked quietly, slowly approaching the man seated on the bed.

"That blasted cursed wench!" Pintel roared. "She gone off an' stole all me money! An' me pistols!"

"But you was carryin' all our money," Ragetti commented, speaking in a dazed monotone. "Are you sayin' it's all gone?"

"Every last coin o' it."

"You're joking," Joana said, glaring at the heavy pirate.

"Now, would I joke about somethin' like that?" he replied disdainfully.

"Wot are we goin' to do now?" Ragetti asked.

"Well, we gotta get all that money back. We'll hafta do a good bit o' honest piratin', for sure, but it shouldn't take us but a few days: five, I wager."

"What? I thought we were planning on leaving today, as soon as we found another crewmate."

"Plans change, poppet. Ya know, if you're so keen on leavin' 'ere, yeh can make us some coin faster."

"How so?" she asked, suspicion in her voice.

"Think about it. How would a nice, supple young girl such as yourself wearin' that sorta dress do such a thing? Hmmm…. I wonder…."

Ragetti began laughing annoyingly loud in reply. Of course Joana could see what Pintel was getting at, but that was below her dignity. Even so, she thought about her father on his way to Southampton with Beckett and the Royal Navy. Her father, perhaps traveling there to be executed upon his arrival. The thought greatly troubled her, but the decision had to be made quickly.

"So, wot's it gonna be, poppet? Are yeh _open_ for business? We could have all the money we need by tomorrow night an' could leave then… if yeh get enough customers, that is..." Pintel followed his comment with a gruff chuckle.

Surprisingly, Joana didn't move forward to slap his teeth out. She just stood there, looking deep in thought.

"I think she's actually considerin', Pintel," Ragetti commented, looking at her, his eye wide with concern.

"Which would be how many customers," she said very slowly, watching a wicked smile appear on Pintel's face.

"Well, at let's say seven shillin's a pop, yeh'd need to have at least… twenty. That'd get us all the food an' weaponry we'd need so's we can leave, as well as a price to pay to get us a full crew."

Twenty was quite a steep number. _It'd be like a bloody assembly line, twenty customers by tomorrow night, _she mused.

"What about you?" she shot, crossing her arms. "Is there nothing _you_ could do to get us the money faster?"

"Believe me, if I could be paid to get laid I would do so. Trouble is, the system don't work quite that way."

She made a face of disgust. Even if the system did work the other way around, she couldn't imagine anyone paying Pintel to sleep with them. Just picturing Pintel with the plump wench from the night before was grotesque, to say the least.

"So, when can we plan on leavin'?" Pintel asked. "Tomorrow night, or another five days?"

Joana couldn't even think of what she should do. She felt horrible about this revolting choice she had to make, and fled the room in utter anguish.

* * *

Jack Sparrow and Joshamee Gibbs stood at the bars of their cell in the brig of the Royal Navy ship the _Intrepid_, using whatever implement they could pull through the bars to attempt to wrench their way out of the cell. Their wrist shackles remained closed on the ground a distance from the still-shackled Barbossa, who could only laugh at their pitiful situation. The Turkish prostitute stood shackle-free against the bars on the far end of the cell, having easily slipped them over her dainty wrists. She was also leg iron free for reasons of incredible flexibility and general slenderness. However, her anger over being captured and confusion over her surroundings of a foreign language made her totally unwilling to help the other captives, including Gibbs.

"What d'ye think yer goin' to do once ye leave the cell?" Barbossa said to the two standing men with a snicker. "Trip an' fall on yer faces?"

Truth to tell, it was rather stupid to attempt to leave the cell before removing the leg irons. The lantern oil just didn't cut it. Jack and Gibbs had to lean on the bars in between hops to traverse the small area of their cell.

"Listen, fellas, I've thought of a way we can escape. But firs' ye have to give me some o' that lantern oil so's I can show you what I be referrin' to."

"A smashin' good try, but Gibbs an' myself are much more smarter than you give us credit for," Jack replied. Grinning at Barbossa, Jack took a hop towards the back of the cell, and in not realizing their makeshift chamber pot was sitting right behind his bound legs, landed on it mid-hop and fell flat on his face. The material inside spilled all over his expensive leather boots in the process.

"What's that ye was jus' sayin', Jack?" Barbossa said with a content little smile on his face.

"Oh, shut it."

Jack hadn't realized how much more his leg needed to heal, for after his fall it was aching very badly. He couldn't say anything about it, of course, because that would show weakness, so he painstakingly pulled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth to keep silent.

"Mr. Gibbs," Jack said, leaning in towards his First Mate, "I have a plan that may be quite good… quite good indeed. When th' next Royal Navy man enters our humble abode, we sit there like we're bound, an' just' when he turns around, we ambush 'im an' force 'im to give us th' key for our leg irons!"

Gibbs nodded half-heartedly, speaking up as he did so.

"Only one problem with that, Cap'n."

"Wot's that."

"What if he doesn't have the key?"

"I hadn't thought o' that," Jack said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "But that _does_ present quite a problem. We can't very well walk him to th' location of the key, bein' as said key would thus enable us to do so, an' if we could already do such a thing, we wouldn't need the key in th' first place, an' therefore would not need to stage an ambush for said key."

Gibbs looked confused as he sorted over the details, and then spoke.

"Right. So we need to free our legs firs' before doin' anythin' else."

"Which we've tried—an' failed to do. Actually, come to think of it…." Jack said, with a triumphant smile on his face. He paused a second too long, causing Gibbs to become impatient.

"Come to think o' _what_, Cap'n?"

"It has always been apparent in the past that the person who is able to open our cell door also possesses th' key to our cell door… Because keys are kept _only_ on key rings, it is highly probable an' therefore quite possible that that particular person would have th' key to our leg irons on 'im, an' so would not have to traverse outside of our cell in order to give us wot we want."

"That bein' the key!" Gibbs said with excitement.

"_Wot_ bein' the key?"

"Ah, ye buggerin' imbecile," Barbossa spat, realizing that Jack had become lost in his own conversation.

Rather, Jack turned to him with a confident, albeit roguish grin.

"Totally inappropriate, mate, bein' as you are bound an' I am quite capable of wringin' your bloody neck. Thereby leavin' you to rot upon this wretched ship as I, Master Gibbs, an' his pretty little lass execute our darin' escape." Jack then turned away, muttering only loud enough that Gibbs could hear. "Certainly quite a wretched ship indeed. Bloody Royal Navy can't even clean up after themselves…."

"What are ye speakin' of, Cap'n?" Gibbs replied quickly.

"That downright awful smell," Jack said, scrunching his nose in distaste.

"That's yer doin', ye harebrained scallywag," Barbossa snapped, staring irritably at Jack's soiled boots.

"Wot?"

The dreadlocked pirate looked down in horror at his boots and the substance that now decorated them, in addition to the presence of lantern oil. Without a word, he sat down, leaning back against the cell wall. With dainty fingers, Jack rolled back the top of his boots so that they were at thigh height, and then slowly, carefully, began yanking the bottom of each boot. Within minutes, Jack was bootless. He flung the malodorous objects into the far corner of the cell, looking revolted and yet saddened.

All of a sudden, Jack's face lit up with happiness and he grabbed onto the leg irons, sliding them easily over his stocking-adorned feet.

"How did I not think of that before?" Jack said aloud, mostly to himself, as he stood up quickly, his legs finally free of the leg irons.

Immediately Gibbs sat down and rolled up the top of his boots, pulling them off, followed by his leg irons. Barbossa had more trouble, being as his hands were still shackled together. However, once he had freed his legs, he stood up, walked over to the where the lantern oil had been deposited, and was soon shackle-free as well.

"I guess my earlier trip was jus' wot I needed in order to be assured that freedom is nigh," Jack said to the former captain with a triumphant smile.

"Now we jus' have to think o' some way to get out of this cell an' off the ship without dyin'," Gibbs suggested. Barbossa looked glum, realizing they had more obstacles ahead.

"It'll take more than a trip from ye, Sparrow, to carry out our next plan o' action."

* * *

"Lay back…. That's right," Joana said in the huskiest voice she could muster. There she was, straddling her seventh customer as he lie on the bed in a room of an abandoned brothel. It had taken a bit of planning to determine what to do, but she had established a plan of action that allowed her to retain her virginity, yet get her money and not need to kill anyone in the process. She did not have the heart of a hardened pirate, and thus, the ability to slay countless faceless people without feeling downright awful. Rather, she had grown up learning how to help people, to repair their wounds and make them healthy again. No, she most certainly would not cross the line in killing innocent men—especially for the sake of something trivial like money.

"Come on, wench, when you going to remove that tight dress of yours?" the half-clothed man wailed in Turkish, watching her with lust in his eyes. Joana could only smile at him, licking her lips in realization that she'd never understand what he was saying.

"How about… you let me do all the work?" she replied, biting her lip teasingly. "Does that sound fair? Sen beğenmek -e doğru almak senin dolu para değer?"

Joana had learned the Turkish phrase, which loosely meant, "would you like to get your money's worth," from the prostitute who had stayed with Gibbs on the _Black Pearl_, seemingly repeating the same phrase over and over again.

Her customer nodded excitedly, enjoying her still-clothed breasts looming over his face as she tied each of his wrists to the headboard. She then turned around, still straddling him, as she fastened his ankles underneath bed-knobs at either corner of the bed. It was quite lucky that this brothel had beds with barred headboards and rather large metal bed-knobs at the other end. Probably used for this precise purpose.

After securing all four limbs, Joana shifted around in the bed so that she was again facing him. She leaned her head down onto his bared chest, leaving little kisses further and further down on his body. All the while he stared at her, a big smile on his bearded face. She was so absolutely disgusted by what she had to do, she couldn't derive any enjoyment whatsoever from these strange new experiences with random foreign men.

"Now, that's no good," she said with an obvious pout, stopping her trek southward on his body. "You know exactly where I'm going next, what I'm going to do. I'd rather you not know."

Because he was helplessly tied down, Joana hadn't even needed to explain, but it was a signal to the men standing outside the room of what was to come next. Her customer of course couldn't understand the English she had used, but her pouting face made it obvious enough that she hadn't been happy with his watching her intently all the while.

Upon speaking the teasing words, she moved back up the length of his body, pulling out yet another length of ribbon and tying it around his head as a sort of blindfold.

"There," she said loudly. "That's good."

Soon his breeches were being pulled ever so tantalizingly slowly downward…. a pinch on his behind, hands running up and down his thighs that he could feel through the fabric of his breeches.

Joana had found a large sum of Turkish money—altins, they were called—on this particular man, one who seemed to be of higher economic status, though he still dressed quite shabbily. Now all she needed to do was figure out how this Turkish money translated into pounds….

* * *

Once Joana's latest quarry had been tied helplessly and rendered blind by the blindfold, Pintel and Ragetti sneaked into the room, and seeing this next customer to rid the room of, slowly undid each tie, tying the man's wrists together behind him and ankles together. While the man shifted about uncomfortably with arms and legs tied in this new way, Pintel, with practiced efficiency, quickly slipped a gag about the man's mouth and along with Ragetti, carried the customer away.

Joana, meanwhile, was handed a new batch of ties and blindfolds—namely, tatters of Cotton's shirt, from Cotton himself.

Just as the six men before him had experienced, Joana's latest customer was promptly shoved into a pitch black room, muffled yells and shouts of protest from the other men heard during the rapid unlocking and relocking of the door.

* * *

Pintel, Ragetti, Joana, Marty, and Cotton sat around the generous pile of Turkish money, ignoring the occasional thud from a blindfolded former customer running into the door of their dark new cell.

"Looks like ye made an awful lot today, poppet," Pintel commented, lifting up a handful of coins and allowing it to fall through his fingers.

"Can we leave now?" she muttered, unable to make eye contact with the man who had recommended to her to perform such a feat.

"First we gotta see how much gunpowder an' ammo we can get wif the earnin's."

Ragetti gathered up every last coin collected from Joana's twelve customers, and deposited them in a sack as they headed out of the abandoned building, leaving behind the dozen unfortunate men in the dark room.

Once they arrived at the gunsmith, they attempted to buy two barrels of gunpowder and a large case of lead balls. Though the gunsmith barely spoke a tick of English, he was able to comment on their coinage.

"Not enough for both powder. One only. Need more altins."

"What?! How can that be?"

Marty then removed eleven shillings he had pirated during the past several hours.

"Ah, good. Can get all with this," the smith said with a smile.

"Are yeh bloody kiddin' me? A boatload o' these rotten Turkish coins ain't even worth eleven shillings?" Pintel was enraged.

"Smallest coin. Not worth much."

"You're telling me."

Marty snatched back his eleven shillings and they left, realizing they'd need to think of another strategy to make enough money to leave, being as the currency in Constantinople was worth much less than British money. A permanent scowl had become etched on Joana's face, for all that work she had done, with twelve customers, no less, wasn't even worth eleven bloody shillings, less than a shilling a customer.

* * *

Meanwhile, aboard the _Intrepid_, Jack, Barbossa, and Gibbs were hard at work on figuring out how to pry the bars apart or somehow fit their bodies between said bars. It wasn't getting very far.

Soon, however, the approaching footfalls of at least two people headed down the stairs, triggering the four prisoners to sit down, draping the shackles against their wrists and legs so as not to arouse undue suspicion. A Royal Navy officer and what appeared to be a simple cabin boy entered the brig, the officer holding a key ring whilst the boy held a tray of bread and potatoes.

"Ye hungry, ye sad-lookin' lot?" the officer commented with a haughty grin. The cabin boy could only look sullen. The officer approached the bars, sniffing the awful stench that had now permeated the air.

"Bloody heathens," he muttered, daintily pinching his nose, "can't even use the proper facilities. Perhaps I shouldn't feed ye dogs, if ye can't even rid yer waste like civilized men."

Even though his words were harsh, the officer unlocked the cell door and moved aside so that the boy could set the tray on the floor. Jack watched the youngster with interest, though infinitely more concerned about the officer who kept a hand by his sidearm.

The boy soon deposited the food and stepped out of the cell quickly, moving behind the officer.

It was then that Jack spoke up from his position on the floor.

"Do explain how we are expected to use these, as you say, 'proper facilities,' bein' as a lady is ever-present," he said, indicating the woman in the cell, who was sitting as far away from the men as was possible. "An' most especially, how is said _lady_ supposed to use these 'facilities,' wot wiv bein' surrounded by men all the while."

"Ha, as if you pirates have any respect whatsoever for womankind," the officer said gloatingly.

Jack noticed a wedding ring on the man's finger.

"I respect an' admire all women—except for those women desirin' to be degraded; your wife bein' a prime example, Sir."

The Royal Navy officer's face darkened considerably at the insult to his wife. Surely Sparrow had never even met her, but her honour had been compromised, and thus needed to be defended.

His face now scowling unabashedly, the officer stepped into the cell, Longfellow standing behind him with mouth agape as he watched his superior enter the pirates' abode.

"How about I render you incapable of fathering children?" the officer hissed, bending his so as to kick Jack in a most painful place.

"Too late for that," Jack said. Gibbs gasped and Barbossa looked over at Jack, his eyes wide. Was he going to mention his daughter Joana to this enemy?

"Your wife's currently carryin' my latest," the dreadlocked pirate added with a devilish grin.

With that the officer kicked at the offending pirate, not expecting that Jack would swiftly grab his leg and twist it about. With the unexpectedly painful twisting of his leg, the officer fell hard onto the floor, upsetting the chamber pot once again. Longfellow suddenly yelled a shrill 'help!' which threw Jack off-guard for only a split second.

Ignoring the boy's subsequent cries for help, Jack held the officer down while Gibbs knocked him out cold with the now-empty chamber pot. They smiled with happiness at the job well done, not noticing that the boy was now approaching the bars.

Longfellow had seen the key ring in the officer's hand, which was now very close to the bars and was still clutching the implements of escape. He ducked down by the bars and snatched the keys away with a metallic jangling, and then stood up, pushed the cell door closed, and relocked it in a mere matter of seconds.

"Oi, you're goin' to pay dearly for that, boy!" Jack raged, slamming his hand against the now shut and locked door. Longfellow scampered up the stairs, being met at the top with heavy footfalls.

The officer on the ground below Jack began to murmur incomprehensibly, but Gibbs was already there. Before the man could fully come to, Gibbs had taken all the useful weaponry off the officer and was now holding out the man's pistol to Jack.

Jack cocked and aimed the officer's pistol just as a throng of Royal Navy men plodded down the stairs, their muskets at the ready. They had not expected to see an officer lying facedown in the pirates' cell, his face splattered with unmentionables, the entire place reeking of fecal matter, the three male pirates unshod and entirely free from shackles.

"Drop it, Sparrow!" the lead man demanded. "I've no reservations to killin' ye right where ye stand!"

"You forget, of course, the importance our bein' captured alive warrants for your future career."

"I'll consider your execution, whether or not by my hand, the pinnacle of my life's career. Drop the pistol."

This was surely a failed attempt for Jack, who could only stare coldly at the five muskets aimed towards him and his comrades. There'd be no bargaining here—if he had been alone in the cell, he would've picked up the body of the officer and held the pistol to its head, as a hostage. He could protect himself in this way. Yet, there was Gibbs, and—well, the others were expendable. And to his dismay, this was only a one-shot pistol.

In the process of considering what to do Jack must have looked down at the officer at his feet.

"I will not hesitate to shoot right through 'im to bring you down," the head Royal Navy man said.

The dreadlocked pirate glanced over at Gibbs, whose face was frozen with fear yet ever so slightly nodding his head. Jack then glared at the head Royal Navy officer, who took another step forward. _Tough bugger_, Jack mused, with an internal sigh. And with that he let the pistol clatter at his feet.

* * *

As the Royal Navy's journey towards Southampton progressed, the _Black Pearl_ made significant headway and was soon miles ahead of the _Intrepid_, being as it was a smaller, more compact ship built for speed rather than cannon power. Being as the Mediterranean Sea had few strong currents to impede travel, the _Black Pearl_ had only taken a matter of days before she had rounded Gibraltar and was sailing along the southernmost tip of Spain near the city of Cádiz.

Beckett had stepped out of Elizabeth's cabin several times that particular day during their travels along the coast of southern Spain, twice to fetch her more food and drink and the other times merely to get away from her constant questions and complaints. As nightfall approached on this third day of Elizabeth and Beckett's reunion, he stood aboard the main deck of the _Black Pearl_, the formerly fearsome ship currently captained by an officer of the Royal Navy. It wasn't long before he was approached by curious crewmates.

"Say, what's goin' on with you and the captive girl… what's her name again?"

"Jane Collins," Beckett replied dryly. _Egh, I'll never escape this annoyance._

"So…" the crewmember began. Beckett remained silent. "Beckett." The crewmember tapped him on the shoulder insistently.

"What."

"You've been stayin' in a cabin with her these past nights, of that I'm sure. What's goin' on."

"As if you cared about anything I did before this time. It's none of your business."

"Ha! Well, that obviously means somethin' is goin' on betwixt you two!" The crewmember looked gleeful, walking over to two other Royal Navy men who were standing further down the gunwale. He murmured to them, glancing briefly back at Beckett, and received several pieces of eight from the men with a smile on his face.

The two men then headed Beckett's way.

_That's it_, Beckett fumed._ I'm sick of this bollocks. I guess I'll just have to deal with Elizabeth for the remainder of the evening. Hopefully she's already asleep. I'm sick of arguing every minute of every day._

He began walking the opposite direction of the approaching men, on his way to Elizabeth's cabin. Upon reaching the door, Beckett opened it with utter care, praying that the hinges would stay silent and she would be asleep. Inside the cabin it was dreadfully hot and stuffy. _I'll never be able to sleep in here tonight. This is ridiculous, _he mused.

Immediately upon his entering her room, he heard Elizabeth yowl with fury and yank the covers up under her chin. Two candles were burning on the bedside tables, but there was no other source of light entering the room. She looked almost ethereal in the eerie dim light of the candles.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking first?!" she shrieked, face reddening with each second. _Bloody hell; I thought I locked it_, she mused. She knew she was still too ill to venture from her cabin, but the current heat of her windowless cabin made it impossible to relax without removal of some garments.

"What's your problem," Beckett asked in a bored monotone.

"Go away," she hissed, keeping the covers raised. A smirk appeared across his lips at the thought of what she could be hiding. Her clothing, lying on the floor in a neat pile, confirmed his suspicions. She was naked, or at least mostly so.

The fact that she was now so vulnerable in front of someone who had captured every living person she cared about infuriated Elizabeth to no end.

There came a knocking on the door behind Beckett, startling him so much as to flinch.

"Who is it?" Elizabeth asked, her voice clear and loud. Beckett could hear low sniggering outside the door. Not skipping a beat, he turned the key in the lock, thereby locking out the curious crewmates who were currently leaning on the door, listening for action.

"Who is it?!" Elizabeth said again in a singsong voice, having not heard the quiet snickers.

Temporarily forgetting Elizabeth's state of undress, Beckett moved towards her so as to reveal who was at the door.

"What are you doing?!" she hissed at him. He put a finger to his lips.

"I was going to tell you who was at the door." The smirk reappeared.

"So—" she began, face twisted in annoyance.

"So what."

"So who's at the door, since that's your grand excuse for coming over here."

"Curious crew," Beckett muttered quietly. "Been following me around all day."

"Serves you right, making up all those stupid stories about you and me—"

"Enough."

She looked up at him, seeing that Beckett's jaw was set and his eyes stern, an unwelcome transformation from the constant indifference in his expression. Rage built in Elizabeth. There was no reason for him to be angry. He was on his way back up the ladder of success, having caught a fresh slew of pirates that were most certainly going to be executed at some point. She and most likely her baby were ill, trapped amongst Royal Navy on Jack's beloved _Black Pearl_, which he never could seem to enjoy for very long periods of time, whether it be interrupted by a mutinous crewmate, the Kraken, or now, the British Royal Navy. And here she was, practically naked in front of her on-again, off-again enemy Cutler Beckett.

"Get out," she growled.

"No." His sour expression remained.

"What's _your_ problem?" she fumed. "_I'm_ the one in pain, in danger of losing _my_ baby, and you're on your way back up to the top, stepping on the backs of those unfortunate enough to have ever met you!"

Her irritability was compounded by the fact that his past status as a mortal enemy was revisited by his wearing fine clothing and the same pompous white wig as before. How many of those bloody things did he have, anyway?

"Oh. Is that how you feel," he replied languidly, barely suppressing a yawn. "Well, you have only yourself to blame for my being here at present."

"Even if Jack is still alive, you have sentenced us all to death."

"As I see it, the only way anyone can avoid the inevitable 'death sentence' that life itself brings is by stealing a piece of Cortes's gold. Rather unfortunate that the opportunity passed."

It was then that he began to shrug his coat off of his shoulders. He was stopped, however, by Elizabeth's command.

"Stop right there. You are not staying here."

"Oh, really," he replied, bitterness tingeing his voice. He then realized that she was still covering herself, and continued.

"Are you saying that because you are naked or nearly so at the moment, or for some asinine pride-related reason?"

He watched her face turn a humiliated shade of crimson, and took a rather bold step forward.

"What are you doing?" she said breathlessly.

"You were obviously expecting me to return at some point. And yet, the fact that you chose to remain undressed with your door unlocked leads me to the assumption that—"

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, the words not coming out quite as strong as she wanted. The outright rejection, though expected, caused Beckett to snap back into irritability.

"I can do you the favour of turning my back as you re-dress, but I am not going to be subjected to the crew's jeers all bloody night."

"I don't care what sort of petty anguish you'll have to experience at the hands of the crew. That's your problem."

"Actually, it's your problem as well, my dear," he said, irony thick in his voice. Her recent behavior, though somewhat justified, was really wearing on his nerves and he spoke in the heat of the moment. "If you are so tormented by this responsibility of acting civilly towards me, then perhaps your motherly responsibility and the _pain_ and _danger_ it brings you should be forfeited as well."

Her eyes narrowed menacingly.

"How dare you! Are you threatening me!?" she hissed, volume ever-increasing.

"All I am saying to you that is if you care for the safety of this child, you will tolerate my presence as long as it is required to ensure its safety."

Breaking eye contact with Elizabeth as he turned to face the door, Beckett slipped off his coat and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. During this time Elizabeth reached down to the floor, snatching up her nightgown. She pulled it over her head and down to her knees in the time it took Beckett to turn back around sans coat, waistcoat, and hat.

He took a couple of steps toward the bed, but halted at the sight of her scooting her body to the center of the small mattress. She glared up at him, crossing her arms.

"You are sleeping on the floor," she stated coldly, her gaze unwavering from his own.

Seemingly ignoring her command, Beckett reached towards her head with an outstretched arm. During this time he was positioned directly beside the bed, slightly bent over.

Suddenly Elizabeth's hand swiped at Beckett, taking hold of the wig atop his head. Triumphantly she yanked off the offending piece, and shoved it somewhere underneath her body.

Beckett's eyes glared daggers, though his countenance remained calm.

She looked up at him, an odd combination of mischief and anger in her expression.

"What? Are you actually considering tackling a pregnant woman? Surely being a man of such proper upbringing, you'd not _dare_ compromise your honour in such a coward's way."

Elizabeth watched his expression intently, as the rage in his eyes faded into obscurity. _What is he going to do now?_

Beckett continued to stare silently at Elizabeth, his eyes searing into her own. He said not a word, only his eyes conveying his thoughts, albeit ambiguous, in a rare moment of emotion. Elizabeth could hear the sound of her heartbeat thudding in her ears. _Whatever is he going to do now…._

Elizabeth said nothing as Beckett leaned in closer and closer, eyes burning intensely into hers, not breaking direct contact with her own. His mouth was an indifferent sort of semi-grimace, curls of his light brown hair sticking up every which way on his newly-exposed head, framing his intense blue-green eyes as a sort of messy halo. Was that regret she saw in his eyes?

Involuntarily, her lips parted, eyelids heavy with a sort of inexplicable anger-fueled desire for this off-again enemy of hers, whose face lingered ever closer to her own with each increasing moment.

Suddenly, just before his lips could touch hers, Beckett reached out and wordlessly snatched the pillow from beside her head and fluidly moved away from her, turning his back on her in one smooth motion.

Neither said another word as Beckett lie down upon the floor, using his coat as a sort of makeshift blanket. Elizabeth took one last fleeting glance at this posture, and blew out the candles with a sigh, feeling empty and disappointed.

* * *

Beckett awoke the next morning with a sort of headache. Truth to tell, his head was spinning with odd thoughts.

_I wonder what would have happened had I gone through with it_, he mused, sitting up ever so quietly and glancing carefully towards Elizabeth's bed. _Certainly my own stubbornness and pride was my major failure last night. She was most certainly willing, by my calculations…. _

_Now that she and I can no longer mention her husband's name, perhaps she will forget about him… and until that time, _only _then may she learn to care for—Oh, God, what am I thinking? She absolutely loathes me at present, no question about that. Mayhap she feels a moment of weakness now and again, but I've received none of her affections— then again, what would she think of how I feel? In my not following through last night, she may now think I am just toying with her mind during her current vulnerable state. _

_Good God. If I continue to sit here, she's going to wake up and embarrass the hell out of me. It would only take one disgruntled glance from her to ruin my entire morning. I think it better that I find something to keep me busy, lest my mind wander like that again. Whatever this is I'm feeling, I bloody hate it._

Scowling at nothing in particular, Beckett crept quietly out of Elizabeth's room to fetch some food and get some air before the remainder of the crew awoke and began their incessant questioning of his relationship with their sick guest.

Beckett first entered the hold, collecting some water for his daily ginger tea. He used an already red-hot cast iron burner in the ship's empty forecastle to heat the liquid, and then deposited some ground ginger roots into the hot liquid. The ship was utterly silent, forecastle empty, though there were few crewmembers as it was. Someone had apparently made tea today within the last ten minutes or so, but was nowhere to be seen. Before he could even take a sip of the concoction, he traversed towards the main deck to drink his tea.

Startlingly enough, every man aboard was on deck, stretching various telescopes to watch a fast-approaching speck on the horizon.

"Anythin' yet, Bullock?" the _Pearl_'s Royal Navy captain yelled up to the man in the crow's nest.

"I think I should see its colours soon," the crewmate yelled back down, keeping the telescope to his eye. "Oh, heaven help us; it's the _Flying Dutchman_!"

* * *

Ahh, quite the cliffhanger, eh? What'd you think? Is everyone still in character? Is anybody OOC? The story continues to pick up, as you guys probably realize, after this next new complication….. Feedback really helps shape the future!


	19. The Dutchman Arrives

A/N: Thank you to all the reviewers! I'm sorry it took a bit to update. I had problems figuring out how to end this chapter and took a little more time to think about it!

* * *

Chapter 19: The Dutchman Arrives

* * *

_No no no_, Beckett's mind shouted. _Stupid lovestruck bugger's going to win her back all over again, and all my efforts will have been for naught._

He gaped down at the prepared tea, at the tantalizing aroma of ginger that he had not even sipped yet.

* * *

"Elizabeth, wake up," he said, shaking her by the shoulders until she awoke. Her eyes opened to slits and she soon realized it was Beckett awakening her.

"Go away, insipid louse," she muttered through clenched teeth. _I should have figured she hadn't forgotten to be spiteful towards me_, he mused.

"Listen, I wanted to apologize for last night. I did not mean for my words to be construed as a threat."

"And yet, you meant to threaten me, all the same," she replied with a hiss.

"I'm dreadfully sorry for saying such things. I wish to make it up to you. Here," he said, picking up the teacup with a grim smile, "I made you some ginger tea."

"Ha! As if that will make any difference," she said, eyeing the cup suspiciously.

"Please, Elizabeth," he said, his voice greatly softened. "Just accept it as the first of many penances that I am indebted you for speaking such evil words."

She gaped up at him, and then, realizing something, narrowed her eyes at him.

"You just want your wig back, is that it? There's always an ulterior motive in your doing anything remotely resembling kindness."

Beckett hadn't even thought of his wig, probably still hidden somewhere beneath her body.

"No. Take my wig and do what you will with it. I deserve that it should not be returned to me."

Now Elizabeth's look was that of utter disbelief, and total confusion over these words Beckett was saying. He held the teacup out to her again, a small albeit warm smile on his face all the while. With a look of suspicion, Elizabeth took the cup from him, watching his smile spread across the entirety of his face.

"Do not suppose for one moment that my taking this from you means anything," she muttered coldly, putting the cup to her lips and taking her first sip.

"Of course," he said with a shocking amount of tenderness.

Only minutes after finishing the cup of ginger tea, Elizabeth lost consciousness. Beckett carried her swiftly to the hold, depositing her in a large empty barrel, shutting the lid upon ensuring there was a decent gap for airflow.

He raced upstairs in a great hurry, seeing that the _Flying Dutchman_ was almost within range of the _Pearl_'s cannons. The main deck was chaotic, with every one of the scanty crew, including the medic, attempting to load the cannons.

"Hard to starboard!" the captain yelled, the helmsmen swiftly turning the ship so that the _Black Pearl_'s cannons were aimed toward the approaching _Dutchman_. The crewmen knelt behind the cannons on the starboard side of the ship, glancing back to hear the captain's orders.

"Hold your fire!" Beckett yelled just as loudly, eliciting groans from the small crew that was now gaping at him.

"The _Flying Dutchman_ is an ally of the _Black Pearl_. They should be allowed to approach safely," he continued.

"But wot if they change their minds upon seeing Royal Navy aboard?"

"We don't look as such, do we? In addition, I personally know the new captain of the _Dutchman_. He and I have worked together in the past, and once I explain to him what occurred, the _Dutchman_ should bring us no harm. He is not like Jones."

"But the admiral an' the chest…" one man muttered, silenced by the captain, who drew a finger across his own throat as a warning.

_What if upon realizing we are Royal Navy, Turner decides to attack the _Pearl_ and destroy us? Or, worse, what if he manages to find Elizabeth? _Beckett mused_. However, we should hold our fire. Perhaps Turner's intentions are good, and he treats us fairly. Oh, who am I kidding…_

"Yes, perhaps we should hold our fire," the captain stated. "We're not wearing the garb of Royal Navy… mayhap we can convince them we simply found the _Pearl_ floating offshore somewhere. Which means you can't be around, Beckett. Get your arse out of here, at least for the time being."

Beckett sighed at the demeaning command as he descended below deck.

Within another fifteen minutes, the _Flying Dutchman_ was within shouting distance of the _Black Pearl_. Suddenly, Will Turner materialized onto the deck of the _Pearl_, unable to recognize the laypeople that scattered at his appearance. Without saying a word, he headed below deck, hoping that the individuals above were simply picked-up pirate crew.

In the dimness of the _Pearl_'s gun deck, Will ran right into the back of Cutler Beckett, who had kept his back turned to evade recognition but was listening to the goings-on above deck. Because Will had suddenly appeared and had remained silent he hadn't even realized the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ was nigh.

"Lord Beckett?!" Will cried, rage building. "What in the world are you doing here?! You're supposed to be d—"

"As you can very well see, I am not," Beckett replied anticlimactically, not about to correct Will for calling him Lord Beckett. The shorter of the two men turned around to fully face the new captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. Will looked quite a sight. He had begun to transform into the sort of sea life Jones and his crew had become. Though Will's skin was still human, his moustache was now antennae-like, his hair shone with the deep green slime of seaweed, and barnacles dotted his shoulders and forearms like chicken pox. Most alarmingly of all, Will's hands had taken on the form of starfish. Yet, besides the moustache, Will's face thankfully remained mostly human. He could thus still be spoken to with an air of disdain one would give an insolent child.

"I should kill you now," Will spat. "Where is everyone?! Who are these men you are with?!"

"Everyone formerly aboard the _Pearl_ is currently in Constantinople," Beckett said with an air of disinterest. He still couldn't believe that Will was transforming into sea life as had Jones. Was that a clause in the job description, or what?

"Why did you not kill them if you know where they are," Will asked coldly. "It doesn't make any sense."

"They were the very ones to rescue me from death after the _Endeavour_ was obliterated. Though I needed a fast ship to begin a new crew and took it upon myself to commandeer Jack's dear _Black Pearl_, I spared the lot their lives, being as I am indebted to them for my rescue."

"Some way of thanking them," Will muttered. "So. This is your crew. And now, your ship."

"Yes," Beckett muttered quietly, feeling a budding hope.

"And why should I believe anything you say." Will moved away from Beckett quickly, moving about the gun deck. "Elizabeth! Jack! Barbossa!" he yelled as he strode about. _Bloody hell… now the whole ship is aware of Elizabeth as a person whom Will knows. Thank goodness for Longfellow alerting me early on in knowing her name, though he didn't actually have to say it. _

As Beckett tried to catch up with him, Will jerked open the door to Elizabeth's cabin, finding the sheets rumpled, but the room empty. He glared back at Beckett, who twiddled his thumbs nervously behind his back.

"Where is she?"

"Who are you speaking of. It's not hallowed ground, is it? I'm not going to bar my men from staying where they wish."

"What company are you now in," Will asked in a monotone. "Let me guess, the East India Trading Company took you back. Or… did you manage to manipulate your way into yet another group."

"The question _I_ find troubling, Captain Turner, is, why are _you_ here?" he asked, leaning in closely to the younger man's face. "I thought you had a duty to fulfill as the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_."

"I will return to my duty as soon as I am satisfied."

"And what, pray, would bring about this satisfaction?"

"The location of Elizabeth," Will muttered in a whisper, barely audible.

"Oh. Well, that would be Constantinople," Beckett replied in an equally low murmur.

"So she was on the _Pearl_… with Jack," Will sputtered.

"Correct," Beckett said with a confident little smile. _That'll send him down the path to oblivion…_

Will had so many questions he wanted answered. _Why the bloody hell did they go to Constantinople? Why did she abandon the chest? Why was Elizabeth on the _Black Pearl_? Why is she not trying to find the chest, if she had it taken from her? Does she still possess the key? Is she alright? _Of course, asking such questions of Cutler Beckett, who had so brazenly abused the heart of Davy Jones, was unthinkable. Beckett needn't know of the uncertainty with his own heart.

"Is she alive," Will croaked, a bitterness in his voice that Beckett had not heard before.

"Yes."

"And Jack?"

"Likewise."

Beckett watched as it seemed a barnacle on Will's forearm had doubled in size.

"Barbossa?"

"All the inhabitants of the _Pearl_ are currently there, where I left them."

"So, if they are in Constantinople recently stripped of a ship, they are probably seeking out another ship at the moment."

"Yes. There is an element of urgency, if you wish to intercept her there."

Will took a step back up the stairs so that he was now towering over Beckett.

"I should kill you for what you've done. Or, at the very least, take the _Black Pearl_ back from you."

"I did not have to tell you where to find her, and yet I did. You didn't even ask me the question directly. I spared the pirates their lives because I was indebted to them, and so perhaps you should consider the same course of action with me. You needn't worry about the _Black Pearl_. Eventually Sparrow will get his ship back, more than likely upon killing me. Both of your tasks accomplished in one fell swoop. I wager I shan't be able to keep Sparrow's ship from him for more than a fortnight."

Will's countenance became stony.

"If they aren't there, I'll—"

"—I can finish that statement for you," Beckett cut in. "You'll realize that you must have just missed them, being as you wasted far too much time taking part in idle, pointless chatter aboard the _Black Pearl_." He finished his statement with a cocky little half-smile.

For a moment it seemed as if Will was going to lose his temper, but then he simply turned and walked straight up the ladder to the main deck, disappearing from the deck once in view of the _Dutchman_.

* * *

"What'd you find, Will? Is she there?" Bootstrap Bill asked his newly materialized son, who was now standing by the gunwale.

"No. Constantinople. But we must make haste."

"Did Jack tell you where to find her?"

"He's not there. He's in Constantinople as well. I told you that she was with him. Oh, he'll regret taking Elizabeth from me; that I guarantee."

"Who told you that she was there, if Jack's not aboard? Barbossa?"

"Oddly enough, it was Cutler Beckett."

"But I thought he was dea—"

"Evidently not."

With that, Will headed for the helm, immediately turning the ship away from the _Black Pearl_. Bootstrap and Palafico followed his steps closely.

"What are we doin', Cap'n?" Palafico asked.

"I have discovered the location of Elizabeth. We must make haste to get to Constantinople."

"We'll get there in no time if we travel underwater. To the depths, Cap'n?"

"Aye," Will said with a rare smile. "To the depths."

* * *

Beckett watched intently from the deck of the _Black Pearl_ the _Flying Dutchman_ speeding away, disappearing beneath the waves. It was true that the _Dutchman_ would make far better time speeding under the surface of the ocean, but in doing so, Will and his ship would miss seeing the _Intrepid_ and more specifically, her pirate cargo. _Surely by now Joana and the remainder of the _Pearl_'s crew will have left Constantinople, leaving Captain Turner with only accounts of Turks having seen them there. I have covered my arse quite well, in that respect. He cannot claim that I lied. And better yet, he knows not of my current destination…_

Immediately upon realizing the _Dutchman_ had fully disappeared beneath the waves, Beckett thought to fetch Elizabeth from the barrel. He made his way to the hold, pulling her out of the container and trodding back up the stairs with her.

"What the bloody hell are ye doin', Beckett?" the Royal Navy crow's nest crewman John Bullock asked him, stopping him on his trek for her cabin.

Beckett paused, caught completely off-guard. He considered for a moment, and then spoke.

"I thought—she would awaken if I poured water on her face."

"Why didn't ye just bring the water to her then?" Bullock replied with a sneer.

"Yes… that would have been much simpler. Very good thinking." Having successfully swallowed his pride, Beckett shoved his way past and entered Elizabeth's cabin with her unconscious body, laying her down on the bed. He covered her quickly with the blankets and left her room hastily.

* * *

It was nearing sunset when Joana, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton decided to scan the harbour to do some ship-shopping, as it were. They were still in need of a sixth crewmember and had barely a pound among the five of them, but it couldn't hurt to see if an opportunity should arise, in possibly running across a well-stocked ship empty of crew. What they didn't expect to see as they stood at the end of the dock was a large craggy-looking ship suddenly shooting out of the water in the harbour, drenching them with sea spray.

Will peeked out over the gunwale of the _Flying Dutchman_ at the people standing on the dock below. And oh what good fortune! He recognized Pintel, Ragetti, Marty and Cotton, all standing about, their mouths agape. An unknown woman was with them, certainly not Elizabeth, though, to his dismay.

Suddenly Bootstrap, Clanker, and Palafico leapt from the gunwale of the _Dutchman_, blocking the pirate crew from retreating back up the dock.

Pintel involuntarily pulled out his pistol, and then looked up at the deck of the _Dutchman_ to see its new captain, their ally…. But wait, where _was_ Will Turner? He saw a craggy, moustached specimen plagued with barnacles that _sort of_ resembled the boy, but nah, that couldn't be him.

"Ahoy, down there! It's me, Will Turner!" the craggy captain said with a boyish wave.

"Turner?" Pintel said with confusion.

_Will Turner?_ Joana mused. _As in… Elizabeth's husband? That… creature?_

Joana had never seen a crewman of the _Dutchman_, infamously transformed and half-dead men who had postponed their Judgment Day in exchange for one hundred years service aboard the fearsome ship. The idea of this person with what looked to be glistening seaweed hair and a serious skin infection as Elizabeth's husband made it somewhat more understandable to her that Elizabeth had fooled around with Beckett in the past.

"Where's Elizabeth?" Will yelled down.

"She's not here," Ragetti called out. "Captains Sparrow and Barbossa and Gibbs are not here either."

Will felt ill. He glanced down at the ever-degrading appearance of his crewmates, at their hunched backs and calcified hair and fingers.

"Well, where is she then?!" he said, insistence in his voice.

Joana and Ragetti were just about to speak when Pintel silenced them with an outstretched hand.

"Before we reveal that, can we tag along on your ship? We're headed in the same way as where they was taken."

"Taken?"

"Like I said, we need to rescue 'em but don' got enough crew or a ship, as it were."

"Fine," Will said with a grimace. He never did like Pintel very much.

With that, the gangway was lowered and the intimidated group of pirates, save for Pintel, hesitantly boarded the _Flying Dutchman_, followed by her three crewmembers.

"Now, can you tell me where I can find Elizabeth?" he demanded of the pirates aboard his ship. His grotesque crewmates loomed over the small group with grim smiles, causing Joana to back into the gunwale, feeling overwhelmed. So this was the _Flying Dutchman_ her father had told her about. Much more frightening to actually be on it than to hear about it in third-party form.

Pintel spoke.

"I think maybe we should get out on open water before we divulge—"

Will gave Pintel the evil eye.

"Mister Pintel, I have no intention of throwing you overboard upon your revealing this important information to me. Rather, I am disgusted that it's taken you this long to say anything. Cutler bloody _Beckett_ revealed to me more in one second than you—an apparent ally—have revealed this entire time."

_Cutler Beckett? How did he happen across them? _Joana mused, thinking hard. _And if Turner had not seen Elizabeth with Beckett, where exactly was she?_

"I hope yeh killed him, fer our sake," Pintel said with a growl.

"I would have, if he had not volunteered his help so openly on informing me of your location."

Pintel and Ragetti scowled simultaneously.

"So where is Elizabeth? Or Jack and Barbossa, for that matter."

Joana made an attempt to speak up, to assuage Will's obvious torment over knowing this information.

"Captains Sparrow and Barbossa, as well as Gibbs, were captured by the Royal Navy while we were restocking the ship here. I thought that Elizabeth was also with them. Did you not see her on Beckett's ship?"

Will turned to look at this skinny auburn-haired woman wearing a skin tight dress and possessing a strange accent. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it…. Oh yes! That dress was precisely the dress Elizabeth was wearing when Barbossa took her from Port Royal on the cursed _Pearl_. But who was this foreign woman?

"Pardon me, but I don't believe we've met," Will said softly to the skinny woman, holding back the rage of emotions that came of her claiming that Elizabeth may very well be on the _Black Pearl_, the ship he had let get away with its apparent civilian crew.

"My name is Joana. I am the daughter of Jack Sparrow. You must be Captain Turner."

_Jack has a daughter?!_ he mused. _Oh, who am I kidding; he probably has dozens of illegitimate spawn scattered across the world._

"You may call me Will—if you wish," he said, with an air of embarrassment.

"So—yes, I thought Elizabeth was captured by the Royal Navy, along with my father, Barbossa, and Gibbs. I am surprised you did not see her."

"Are you telling me that Beckett is now in the Royal Navy?"

Joana looked a bit embarrassed at the direct way this man addressed her, the captain of the seas and of all those who die at sea. Though he looked quite the horrific sight from the dock, up close he still retained his human facial features and posture, aside from his strange moving moustache and the freckling of barnacles over his exposed skin. His face, for the time being, had remained unblemished, which was fortunate. However, his hands were a different story. They were starfish, in form and function. It was utterly fascinating to see such a strange-looking person standing right in front of her, speaking to her so normally.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

"Oh, God," Will said, trying to keep his composure, as he began to pace worriedly. "I had no idea of all this. How did that come about?"

"Well, he was on the _Black Pearl_ one minute… the next, he was gone." She didn't feel like explaining further on this at the moment. Besides, she hated Beckett for what he had done, and didn't want to soften his case by explaining how he was actually thrown off the ship. Saying that he left on his own volition was more of a damning action. "When next we saw him, he had known we were headed for Constantinople and intercepted us there. He had everyone aboard captured—except for me."

Her face was now a fiery red, which complemented her auburn hair.

"Why do you think he did that?" Will asked her, watching her eyes fall.

"I don't know."

Will could see that she was uncomfortable and sought to change the subject.

"Do you remember anything else?"

"They had their own ship—a rather large one. They also commandeered the _Black Pearl_, and set sail before we could do anything."

"We need to catch up with the _Black Pearl_… but it could be headed anywhere, now. Bloody hell. No better off now than I was before…."

"Beckett revealed their destination to be Southampton."

_Southampton. Precisely where the heart was, last it pained me. Beckett's probably acquired the heart by now and is using Elizabeth to get to the key. But why didn't he just take it from her, and leave her with the remainder of the crew? Well, that's simple enough, I suppose: Elizabeth is the pirate king of the Brethren Court. In capturing two pirate lords and the pirate king, Beckett will be lord—no, admiral_—_of the British Royal Navy in no time. When I find him I'm going to kill him._

"And Elizabeth… is she alright?"

"Actually, she was quite sick, last we saw her. She's been sick for weeks now."

Joana held her tongue so as not to divulge information of Elizabeth's pregnancy and the sinking feeling she had in supposing the child to be Beckett's. She didn't wish to drive this captain into some sort of frenzy, being as it was apparent that he only had thoughts for Elizabeth. Thankfully her pirate comrades followed suit, staying mum on the matter.

"We need to leave immediately. To the—" Will glanced at the pirate crew with a sort of confused expression. "Right. You can't breathe underwater. Very well."

Ignoring Pintel and Ragetti, Will strode right past the remaining pirates to the helm with a great sigh, turning the ship sharply away from the port city.

"Let's go, men! The sooner we reach Southampton, the sooner we can all return to our duty!"

Joana watched in awe as a rather large barnacle on Captain Turner's neck suddenly disappeared.

* * *

Meanwhile, back on the _Black Pearl_, Beckett tried to avoid the crew, who had many questions for him.

"Who was that 'Elizabeth' that the captain of the _Dutchman_ mentioned? If you knew who she was, why didn' you tell us to go find her when we was there?"

"I don't know who 'Elizabeth' is exactly, but I suspect she must have been one of the crew not aboard the _Pearl_ when we ambushed it."

"I thought you said you was on the _Pearl_ fer months as their prisoner."

"Yes…" Beckett began carefully. "…and in being confined to a cell all the while, I most likely hadn't met everyone aboard the ship."

The crew hadn't been made aware of the admiral's desire to find the key to the Dead Man's Chest, which most certainly this 'Elizabeth' person possessed.

Head swimming over the deluge of questions, Beckett retreated for Elizabeth's cabin. She was still unconscious, the covers having been pulled up to her chin. _How can she still be out? It's been several hours by now... much longer than the medic said it would be. Maybe her illness has weakened her ability to revive from the drug. Bloody hell; I should never have done that..._

_Well, I suppose I now have to continue my 'quest for forgiveness' that I began in saying I made her ginger tea. Otherwise, she may become suspicious. Oh, God, I have to keep the crew away from her at all times, lest they reveal Captain Turner's presence here…. but actually, I can turn that story against him, lest it is revealed to her that he was here…._

He went over to the bed, sitting down on top of the covers, watching her carefully as he did so. Apparently she was out the entire time she was in that barrel—_yet, what's that smell?_

Beckett leaned closer to her, realizing that she smelled strongly of rum. Apparently he had put her in an empty rum keg. _Bloody hell, how am I going to explain that? There's no mistaking that smell. Maybe it is fortunate that she has not yet awoken. Otherwise, she would have smelled the rum outright. _He thought a bit longer and then left the room quickly, closing the door behind him.

Several minutes later, Beckett returned to Elizabeth's room carrying with him a pail of water, a washcloth, and soap. Again watching her intently as he sat down next to her, he laid the items on the bedside table, noticing a complete lack of response from Elizabeth. He removed his boots as he positioned himself to begin removing from her that strong odor.

Quickly he dropped the soap in the pail, swishing the bar around to create some bubbles, and then dipped the edge of the washcloth in the pail, wringing it out carefully.

Beckett stared at Elizabeth's peaceful face, her eyes closed as in sleep, and timidly touched the dampened washcloth to her forehead. Upon noticing a total lack of reaction from her, he very gently rubbed the washcloth over her forehead, down her face, and onto her neck. He continued the cleansing after pulling the bedsheets down towards Elizabeth's knees, running the washcloth over her exposed collarbones. Though she was wearing a nightgown her arms were exposed, and he moved the washcloth over the entirety of each of her arms, lifting them with his free hand to clean underneath them.

_I hope to God this removes that strong smell_, he mused. _Otherwise she'll be asking me a lot of unanswerable questions. _

He pulled Elizabeth's covers down all the way, exposing her bare legs and her feet. She was so frail-looking, so vulnerable in this state. It was hardly justifiable threatening such a weak-looking creature. Now it was hard to believe he had ever threatened this helpless woman lying in bed with a bloated belly and stick-thin limbs. He peered briefly at the swell of her belly under the nightgown. _I wonder if the baby is kicking yet_, he mused, watching her abdomen carefully for sign of movement. _Well, it can't hurt to feel for it, being as she'd never let me do this while conscious._ And with that, he placed the palm of his hand softly upon her swollen belly. Almost immediately he felt what seemed to be a faint kick. _Oh my, it actually is moving! It may still be healthy!_ He was sorely tempted to listen further, and upon checking Elizabeth's peaceful face again, slowly lowered his head onto her belly, placing his right ear against her stomach, his face facing Elizabeth's, so as to watch her. _She'd never let me do this if she was awake_, he mused with a smirk.

Suddenly there came another kick from the being inside Elizabeth, and he smiled unabashedly, shutting his eyes to focus better on the source of the movement. He stayed in this position for a couple of minutes, amazed at the growing, living being kicking around inside the belly of Elizabeth. The smile stayed on his face all the while, eyes closed in imagining what the little thing looked like as it squirmed about inside. _The creation of life is truly amazing. Are you a boy, little one?_

What he didn't see in his reverie was Elizabeth's eyes shooting open indignantly as she felt the pressure on her stomach, didn't see her jaw drop at the sight of Beckett's head resting on her pregnant belly, with closed eyes and a smile on his usually stoic face.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so big question here, everyone. The next chapter I would consider to be M-rated. Thus, if I upload the next chapter, I have to change the rating for my story and so it will not appear on the regular K – T stories on . At the end of the last story (A Touch Of Destiny), some of you expressed interest in having M-rated scene(s). If you are completely aghast to an M-rated scene please let me know, or if you'd rather the story stay T-rated and therefore on the main PotC story page. However, please let me know if you're all-for my next chapter being as I described, because I'm still wishy-washy about putting it up without people actually wanting to see it. Well, I hope to hear from some folks either way! I will not be upset if you do or do not want to have me post an M-rated chapter!


	20. Awash With Emotion

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voiced their opinion on this next chapter! I hope you all enjoy it! Also, this chapter is completely Beckett-Elizabeth focused, but the rest of the characters come back for the next chapter (as well as Beckett-Elizabeth being there too)

Alright, so...

This is an M-rated chapter. I hope you will continue to read the story, even though it will be disappearing from the K-T section of the site!

* * *

Chapter 20: Awash With Emotion

* * *

"What the hell do you think you are doing," Elizabeth asked Beckett in a voice much less sinister than the words she had uttered. She could hardly believe her eyes at seeing him in such a position, listening to happenings inside of her. Additionally, she found herself being jealous that he could do such a thing. For her, to have been carrying this child for so long, to never have been able to listen in closely as it kicked!

His eyes instantly opened in surprise, head jerking up from its position on her body. His utter shock and quick movement led to him losing his balance and tumbling backwards off the bed, face as red as a beet. Beckett's back hit the floor hard, causing him to wince in pain, as he stared somewhere under the bed. Making eye contact with Elizabeth was now impossible.

"I believe I asked you a question," she stated, looking down at him from her higher position.

"Dreadfully sorry," he muttered, moving onto his side, facing away from Elizabeth. This utter embarrassment coming from him amused her to no end.

"That's not a valid answer. Look at me."

The commanding tone she had used in her last statement startled him a bit and he glanced back at her, eyes only meeting hers for a brief moment before falling away. He was completely and utterly humiliated.

"What," he said, his gaze having gone elsewhere.

"Were you listening for the baby to kick?"

A pause, as his face grew ever-hotter.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Well, it was certainly kicking."

A tense silence followed. Being as he couldn't look in her direction without feeling the need to curl up in a dark corner and die, he couldn't see the change in her expression.

"Oh," she said, slowly. He grimaced, as if preparing for her to lean forward and give him a good hard slap across the face. "Thank God," she finished. "I haven't felt it kick for almost a week now. Are you certain it was kicking?"

"Yes," he muttered, throat dry.

"What's this washcloth doing here?" she asked, leaning forward and lifting the damp cloth off of her lower thigh. She touched her arm, feeling the remaining presence of the dampness. Being as Beckett was still unable to look at her, she sniffed her arm, conscious of the smell of a floral-scented soap.

"Did you do this?" she asked him, holding the washcloth between two fingers, realizing he was still embarrassed from before and thus still couldn't look at her. It was annoying that it seemed he couldn't acknowledge her, but fun anyway. _Oh, I'll let him wallow in his embarrassment as long as I can. It's rather funny watching this side of him._

"Do what," he replied in a dull monotone.

"If you'd look at me you'd see what I'm talking about."

"If you could explain it I wouldn't have to look at you," he snapped back immediately.

She sighed loudly and irritably, prompting Beckett to turn his head quite hesitantly and glance at the washcloth. His face, having faded from an angry red to an overheated pink, deepened back to a dark red. Before he could say anything else, he had turned back away.

Elizabeth then saw the pail sitting on her bedside table, soapy water inside.

"Were you _washing me_ while I was sleeping?" she asked him, staring intently at the back of his head, noticing how red his neck had become. Upon the terribly direct question Beckett hastily stood up, walking to the door with back towards her. He needed to get out of here before his face caught on fire.

"Wait, Cutler," she said. Forgetting his situation for a moment, he turned around, his eyes meeting hers very briefly, and then falling. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"You're out of food," he mumbled, beginning to turn around again.

"I don't need it at the moment. I'm just wondering why you did what you did."

"Ha," he scoffed bitterly. "Which part."

"Well, for one, why were you washing me."

Suddenly, he recalled a very good reason for doing so—though it wasn't actually the reason.

"I realized just how stiflingly hot it is in here—and thought it would be a welcome relief—after all, I am in your debt… that is, until you find it appropriate to forgive me."

A smile came to her face at his response.

"And listening for the kicking?" she said.

"What about it," he replied irritably, still unable to look at her.

"Why did you do that."

"Curiosity, I suppose."

Her smile grew wider. She recalled a conversation with a rather infamous pirate captain about curiosity, a conversation that had almost led to what would have been a passionate kiss. Curiosity was quite a force indeed. No one would have ever gotten to listen to her baby's movement, aside from a doctor, perhaps, but Beckett had made it so.

"So, being as you are indebted to me, you are obligated to listen to me, are you not?" She said this with a smile, knowing she could ask him to do just about anything, and if he was truly repentant, he'd have to obey.

"Yes," he said with an internal sigh. _Oh, God, what now…._

"The first task I ask of you is to—"

He held his breath, unsure of where she was going with this.

"—turn around and look at me _without_ looking away."

Beckett gulped, throat feeling constricted. _I do think she enjoys what I perceive to be a sort of mental torture, _he mused_,_ ever so slowly turning and facing her, eyes finally lifting to meet hers—and staying there, as hard as his brain fought to shift his gaze.

He saw that she was smiling at him rather mischieviously as she stared back confidently at him.

"Good boy," she said, the way a mother would speak to a child. Upon the degrading sort of praise, his eyes strayed for a moment, quickly returning to their target. After several seconds of silence, wherein Elizabeth continued to grin at him, Beckett grew impatient and began turning away, desperately wishing to escape.

"I didn't tell you that you could go yet," she said in a singsong, causing him to freeze in place. This treatment was odd, to say the least. He didn't exactly enjoy it, but didn't loathe it as much as he figured he should. With a defeated slouch of the shoulders, he turned back around, jaw set as he looked at her again. She was scratching her arms with her fingernails.

"You've never washed someone before, have you," she asked him, smile oozing confidence.

He swallowed, eyes lowering to the floor.

"No."

"Well, you have to rinse off the soap, or else it itches—as it does now."

Beckett looked at her incredulously. Was she serious in saying that he had to finish the job? He stood there, dumbfounded.

"So, what are you waiting for," she said in a playful voice. "Go fetch some water. And come back here upon getting it."

Without skipping a beat, Beckett did an about-face and left the room, leaving Elizabeth with an amused smile on her face.

_I cannot believe that he is now at my disposal. I'm going to milk his obligation to me until I am satisfied. Besides, he has a lot to make up to me, not just the threat from last night. He turned his back on all of us aboard the _Pearl_, took me away from Jack and the others in Constantinople, had all of us taken prisoner…. _Almost_ fooled me into doing something foolish last night—doesn't he see that I need to stay devoted to Will, my husband and father of my unborn child? Why does he tease me so…. Well, I'll make him see how it feels to be teased. I've not seen him act this way before, so I'll see just how long he can make it last. This is going to be rather fun. _

Beckett returned in a matter of minutes with a pail of fresh water. He knocked before entering the room, listening for her to grant him entrance to her cabin, in case she should be in the same state as she was the night before. Quietly he closed the door behind him as he approached her bed with the pail, setting it down on the bedside table and stepping away.

"Where are you going?" she said, as he stopped in place. "You started this, now you have to finish it."

"What," he said, flabbergasted.

"Would it make it easier if I closed my eyes?" she said, the hint of mischief playing about her eyes and lips. "You know, as if I was sleeping, like before?"

"Well… I suppose so," he croaked dryly, watching her intently. She lie back in the bed, placing her head squarely on the pillow, and closed her eyes, mouth drawn into a sort of subtle smile.

Beckett set his jaw as he watched her for signs of joking around with him. _I have to play along for the time being, if I am to keep her from thinking back to when I gave her the ginger tea. And based upon the first time I did this, she surely doesn't have the key on her…_

Upon seeing her eyes shut, he very slowly opened the drawer on the bedside table, just to check. There the key lay, along with some ginger roots and a hairbrush. A smirk appeared on his face at discovering its location.

With a silent sigh, he dipped the washcloth into the pail of fresh water and sloshed it around to remove any soap residue. During this time he cautiously lifted the key out of the drawer and placed it in an inner coat pocket. Smiling unabashedly, he then wrung it out and touched Elizabeth's forearm tentatively with the washcloth. _I'm well on my way to power again_, he mused.

As the washcloth touched her arm, Elizabeth's smile grew, though her eyes remained shut. Without further ado, Beckett moved the washcloth along her arm, leaving behind a damp trail on her skin. He finished her arms first, unsure of what to do next. Rather than allow for her to begin barking directions again, he began at her feet, cautiously moving up her legs. Quickly he rewetted the washcloth and wrung it out again, reapplying it to her skin in a matter of moments. _The water must be cold, for it appears as if she's shivering_, he mused, watching her body shaking ever so slightly.

Somehow this simple thing Beckett was doing was utterly thrilling Elizabeth. _I wonder if his making amends is just an excuse to be able to get on my good side and stay there… Well, if that is so, I like him all the better. If only he had done this sort of thing upon first being pulled onto the _Pearl_ after his humiliating defeat, he may have spared himself a lot of pain. I hadn't realized he was capable of being selfless simply for the reason of guilt. He hadn't even atoned for his role in the death of my father as much as he is now. Well, maybe he's considering that as part of this most recent atonement as well. I do recall him not being absolutely specific as to his wrongdoings. _She felt her body shaking with excitement at each touch of the washcloth, at the strokes of the damp fabric over the skin of her legs. Though Beckett's skin wasn't directly contacting her own, it was he that was leading the washcloth on its journey up her leg.

Suddenly, she felt the baby give a good hard kick within her. _I think the baby likes him_, she mused, keeping her eyes closed. _I'm rather hoping to raise this baby, at least for the first couple of years, in proper, law-abiding society, as much as it will pain me to be tied again to a life of corsets and balls—I'm not going to deny him an education. I'll need to fade into society and thus must act as such. The child will be born within the next couple of months—certainly not enough time to return to the Caribbean. I wonder what Beckett thinks of children… Maybe he'll reside down the street from me and can watch him when I'm in town shopping or—oh my, I'm getting a bit carried away here. Me, living down the street from Cutler Beckett? Ha, even if I was crazy enough to consider that, it's most likely absolutely impossible, being as he probably lives in some secluded estate. And me… well, I can't claim to be who I am, lest the law knows of my pirate titles and role in sinking ships of Royal Navy and East India Trading Company both._

By this time Beckett had reached Elizabeth's upper thigh with the washcloth. Biting down on his lower lip, he rubbed the washcloth along her inner thighs, glancing oh-so-briefly at the edge of her nightgown which grazed slightly above where he had applied the damp cloth. He could see his own hand trembling very subtly and realized he rather liked doting on her in this way.

Watching her expression intently, he deliberately moved the washcloth a tad higher, the tips of his fingers disappearing under her nightgown.

_Oh my God what is he doing_, she mused, fighting hard to keep her eyes shut. The only person touching me there for the next ten—nine—eh… generally, during this next _decade_ should be a medical doctor.

As the chills continued to run up and down her spine, dampness was occurring on Elizabeth where Beckett hadn't yet touched with the washcloth. She fought the urge to squirm away from his soft touch, curious to know how far he'd go. Anticipating.

Beckett could sense that Elizabeth was aware of this new development and decided to push his luck—and venture further, literally. He inched his washcloth-clad left hand even further up her thigh, feeling heat within the tent the nightgown had created.

_I cannot believe that she is actually permitting me to do this_, he mused, watching her continue to tremble, but not to pull away…

A couple more deliberate movements of the washcloth up Elizabeth's thigh, and soon Beckett realized he had reached her most intimate of areas—had reached this place without getting slapped, shot at, or having anything negative come to him.

_I have to make him stop now_, Elizabeth's brain screamed. _This is incredibly wrong… oh, so very very wrong. _Suddenly she felt the stroking of a bare finger across her now-throbbing nether regions, and almost opened her eyes in response to the completely foreign but stimulating feeling. _Oh, heaven forgive me, I don't want him to stop…._

Beckett could only stare at Elizabeth's face, a stare half-mischievous, half anxious, as he allowed for the washcloth to slip out of his hand, onto the mattress. Biting his lip harder now, his mouth bowed into a smirk, he moved his trembling fingers deliberately across the yet uncharted territory of her body, sensing her body's response immediately.

Again he allowed for his fingers to caress the region. This time, Elizabeth let out a low moan as she squirmed.

_Oh, how can such a thing feel so good? Bloody hell, I don't want the entirety of the ship to hear me…. but I can't help it!_

Beckett was extraordinarily turned on by the sound that had come from Elizabeth's lips. _If the crew should catch wind of the sound, it'll be quite easy for everyone to believe what I have claimed,_ he mused. _Oh, who am I kidding. I could care less about everyone else aboard the ship at this particular moment in time. I rather hope Elizabeth's moans alert the entire ship._

Being as sitting on the edge of the bed was becoming quite uncomfortable, as he was busy leaning towards the center of the bed, his arm outstretched, unable to support himself with an elbow, Beckett decided to change position. Taking in a huge breath, he let his hand remain where it was, moving his knees to the mattress and then kneeling astride her legs. The mattress creaked at this doing, but Elizabeth's eyes did not open. He leaned on his right hand as his left hand worked its wonders on Elizabeth's formerly foul mood.

Several more minutes of this activity under Elizabeth's nightgown, and she couldn't stand it any more, feeling at the pinnacle of the pressure that had been building, an impending explosion. Allowing for a last few caresses from Beckett, she suddenly squirmed away, pumping her legs as they rested under his own, emitting a long, vocal sigh all the while. Elizabeth was awash with pleasure, a feeling she hadn't experienced since—well, her little 'punishment' as it were, in the hold some months back. She was immediately overcome with relaxation and a kind of joy.

As Beckett pulled his arm back during her release, he watched her with a satisfied smirk, glad that he had done her such a service. _I still cannot believe she let me do that_, he mused, watching her breathing return to normal. His look of satisfaction was replaced by a look of trepidation. _She'll probably come to her senses soon and slap me across the face, or lift her leg up and kick me right in the bollocks…._

Suddenly Elizabeth's eyes shot open as she pulled herself into a seated position, her legs smoothly slipping out from between Beckett's knees. Before he could even register what to do next, she was crawling towards him, a naughty smile on her face, affording him yet another unrestricted down her nightgown. _Does he realize how amazing that was for me? I feel like I've been revived. Why is it that he can only ever show muted satisfaction? I daresay I'd like to even the score, as it were; invoke some sort of emotion from him. Nothing at the moment would please me more. Any emotion on Cutler is rare in and of itself—but to watch him in the throes of excitement would be utterly amazing. I saw bits and pieces of it before, though he stayed silent, to my dismay… Well, if he's capable of voicing his satisfaction—hmm.. I don't know what I'll think. Oh, if I could generate a moan from those lips of his…._

He watched her with trepidation, though not changing position. His mouth ever-so-slightly ajar, he remained on his knees on the mattress.

In only a moment, Elizabeth had leaned back on her haunches in front of Beckett, shifting awkwardly along on her knees as she approached the man towards the foot of the bed.

Once Beckett was face to face with Elizabeth, she watched her hands as they moved to touch him. Running her fingers up and down his chest, from his collarbones to the waistband of his breeches. As he knelt there dumbfounded she unbuttoned his coat, pushing it off of his shoulders with very little help from him. He felt the coat fall onto his feet, praying the key stay hidden as she now unbuttoned his waistcoat, also removing it. Now he was clad in a long white buttoned shirt with billowy sleeves, a pair of black breeches, and stockings. Before he had begun to wash her initially he had removed his boots, and when fetching the fresh water… it was only now he realized he had done so in stockings. _No wonder the crew gaped at me as if I had gone mad_, he mused.

Beckett watched her fingers with increasing interest as she yanked his shirt out of his breeches, unbuttoning them from the bottom upwards.

_Oh God_, he mused, feeling his body tremble uncontrollably in response to her aggressiveness._ I can't bloody believe this is happening._

Elizabeth could see he most certainly was trembling a good deal now. She slipped the white shirt off of his shoulders in a sort of embrace in which her face passed very close to his neck. Feeling a surge of passion for this man who had just done her such a beautiful service and didn't even seem to expect anything in return, she kissed his neck.

_He smells quite good for a man_, she said. Not the sour smell of sweat, but of some kind of spicy fragrance combined with a hint of perspiration—certainly not an unpleasant smell, by any means.

Beckett almost melted under the unexpected contact, having sunk slowly from his kneeling position, his rump now resting on the clothing that had fallen onto his feet.

As she continued to kiss Beckett's neck, Elizabeth's hands wandered over his bare chest, the palm of her hand running over his ample chest hair. Her fingers moved in circles over his skin, feeling the taut muscle underneath the hairy yet smooth skin, the gooseflesh he now had over the entirety of his body. When her hand began to veer course southward following a trail of coarser hairs, Beckett breathed in sharply, closing his eyes as the sensation of her touching him in such a way and moving in such a direction emanated over the entirety of his body.

Suddenly she pushed him backwards onto his back, a brief moment of pain occurring to him at having to quickly reposition his legs. Elizabeth was now sitting astride him, the warm region between her thighs resting directly on a growing region between his own.

She leaned down onto him, her pregnant belly still enclosed in the nightgown rubbing up against his bare stomach as she left little kisses over his chest, approaching his neck again. This time, he diverted the kiss by lifting his arms and cupping her face in his hands, allowing for her lips to finally meet his.

Once they had locked lips their trembling bodies seemed to merge into one. She moved her hips sensually over his, enjoying the sensations of tightness in that region becoming more and more apparent. Their mouths slanted over each other's as the heat in each's mouth became the heat of both. She was so deliciously close to him; she could smell the slight scent of perspiration on his face, his forehead glistening with a kind of exertion, eyelids heavy with desire.

Beckett could sense during the kiss one of Elizabeth's hands moving decidedly southward on his body, eventually locking on the waistband of his breeches. _Oh, what is occurring at present is too perfect to spoil—at least, at this moment— with what is to come if her hands should venture any further…._

He tried to move his own hand down to her own, to bar her from going any lower—for the moment, at least—but her other arm was busy trying to prevent passage of his hand as well as supporting her body.

"Now, did I try to stop _you_," she said to him as they took a brief break from the kiss, her voice a low whisper.

"You don't understand," he replied, panting, his eyes closed.

"Don't understand—what," she said, her hand successfully moving past the clothing barrier—well, the two barriers actually, one being within the other.

"Elizabeth, you—"

"Jane," she corrected in a husky whisper, raising an eyebrow. He opened his eyes to look at her, and seeing she was still smiling and her hand was still moving, attempted to speak again as his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Oh, God, Jane, you really shouldn—ohhhh…."

She was now touching what was going to very soon cause this most wondrous activity to be over. Teasingly, she trailed a finger lightly, _teasingly_ up and down, the action causing her hand to be pushed further and further against the fabric of the breeches.

At this new kind of friction, it was all over for Cutler Beckett. He took in a sharp breath, and moaned—quite loudly, in fact—eyes shut tightly as his own release came. Body trembling with pleasure, gooseflesh over the entirety of his skin during the ordeal. Elizabeth promptly removed her hand as she moved her body off of his own, watching in amazement this expression of pleasure on his face, a face that rarely showed emotion.

_He is positively endearing! _she mused, his boyish face shining with sweat, eyes shut with such peace as he licked his kiss-swollen lips in an attempt to regain some of his bearings.

Within a minute or so, Beckett slowly opened his eyes, a bit of a wince now on his face at how Elizabeth was going to look at him in response to what had just occurred. When his eyes finally focused, he saw that Elizabeth was now sitting at the end of the bed, no longer astride him, yet a pleased smile was on her face. He took a deep breath, using his arms to lift his upper body off the bed so that he was now seated across from her. Self-consciously he glanced down at his breeches, which were apparently made of a very thick material, to his surprise and delight. When he looked back up towards the woman sitting across from him, her eyes darted immediately from the same region. _What am I supposed to say to her after something like that_, he mused.

_What should I say or do_, she thought. _I don't want what I do next to offend him_.

_It figures; this is the only pair of breeches and underdrawers I have with me_, he mused with a scowl.

"What's wrong?" she said to him, noticing his frown. His eyes moved to hers, the scowl disappearing.

_Ha. As if I could explain to her the situation I'm now in_, he mused. Instead of even attempting to explain, he looked down at his breeches disappointedly, then back at Elizabeth.

"Ah," she said, understanding. "Jack has some in his cabin, I'm sure—oh, well actually, being that Jack is no longer here, they _may_ still be there, but I'm not certain what the Royal Navy could have done."

"Ugh, meaning I have to somehow get past the captain in this getup—"

"I can go," she volunteered.

_No, I cannot let her do that. I cannot let her leave this room or speak to another crewmember, lest they reveal that Turner was here. She must stay in this room. _

"No—Jane, you need to be on bed rest to ensure the health of your child. Walking around is certainly not advisable at this point in your pregnancy."

"Oh, well, when you put it that way….Well, what are you going to do then?"

"I'll think of something."

"I have extra nightgowns in my cabin," she said with a playful laugh. "You can put one on and we can gossip like sisters under the blankets at night."

He couldn't help but let out a scoff-like chuckle.

"There are other activities—not appropriate for siblings, and certainly impossible for two women—that I'd rather partake in with you under the blankets at night, thank you very much."

* * *

So… what did you think? If you liked the M-ratedness of it… there may be more in the making! Also, if you thought this a bit tame, I will be shifting gears gradually, because this is the first M-rated chapter I've written! Please let me know either way… and also, if they are staying in character, because obviously in the movies such activities didn't explicitly happen, even though it was implied at times (and really, only with Jack and Tia Dalma-Giselle-Scarlett, and Will-Elizabeth).


	21. Outburst

A/N: Thanks to all you lovely reviewers! I'm so glad you all approved of the goings-on in the last chapter! And there's certainly more to come! I really hope you all enjoy this next installment!

* * *

Chapter 21 - Outburst

* * *

Jack, Barbossa, Gibbs, and the Turkish prostitute sat in the brig of the _Intrepid_, their hands shackled behind them, leg irons tightened on their shoeless feet.

"Now look what ye've done, Sparrow," Barbossa spat, his arms having gone completely numb.

"Me? If _you_ had only taken th' keys from that officer, th' boy couldn't've locked us up again."

"Aye, an' instead o' bein' shackled like so, we'd be corpses gettin' pecked away by fish."

"Wot do you think, Gibbs? Am I in th' wrong… or is Barbossa?"

Gibbs looked a bit shocked, and then spoke carefully.

"I'm choosin' to stay out of this argument. Don't matter whose fault it be—we're now where we is an' there's nothin' we can do about it."

"Jus' think," Jack said with a surprising amount of excitement. "When we finally make berth we'll probably not e'en get to set foot on land before we're swingin' on a rope!"

It was realized by his comrades that Jack was being incredibly ironic in his statement. Gibbs could only sigh.

"No thanks to ye, Sparrow," Barbossa spat. "Mayhap until yer _great_ escape plan they be thinkin' of somethin' less severe, but due to yer antics earlier, there be no other option fer us."

"Ha! Th' infamous Captain Jack Sparrow?! They've already tried to hang me six times now durin' th' course of me life. As if they'd settle for anythin' less!"

* * *

Longfellow, that was quite the brave feat you performed against those pirates," the Royal Navy captain told the boy, patting him on the head as they stood on the poop deck of the _Intrepid_ with a smattering of other officers that had witnessed the events in the brig. "How old are you, boy?"

"Fifteen, turning sixteen in a month."

"Do you wish to be an officer someday, Longfellow?"

"It is my life's goal, Sir," Longfellow replied, standing up as straight and proud as possible.

"When we return to Southampton, I'll see to it that you begin officer training. Your valor deserves such a reward."

Another promise for officer training… yet Longfellow had a feeling this one would follow through, being as several officers had overheard the captain. Besides, these men seemed like decent God-fearing men, unlike the unabashedly arrogant Admiral Morgan.

"Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you," the freckled boy said, feeling his face get red. _Well, hopefully the captain's request for my training as an officer won't have to go through Admiral Morgan…_

* * *

Joana sat against the capstan of the _Flying Dutchman_, feeling the barnacles scratching her skin through her shirt. _What an uncomfortable ship_, she mused, watching the fish-people scurry about in their duties. _No wonder they all look so miserable._

Pintel and Ragetti had headed directly for what food and drink they could find in the hold. Marty and Cotton attempted to help the crew of the _Dutchman_ in their tasks, but were far too weak to lift the heavy, wet seaweed sails of the ship. Joana had previously tried to do the same task, but was pushed aside by Clanker and Jimmylegs, who told her that it was especially bad luck having a woman aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ and so she should make herself unseen.

The skinny auburn-haired woman sighed glumly as she squinted into the sun, watching the sails luff in the breeze, blinking as drops of water from them fell on her like a gentle spring rain. Captain Turner stood at the helm, having tied a dark bandanna around his head, which successfully kept his seaweed hair off of his face as the ship sailed against the wind, the fastest way for the _Dutchman_ to move above the surface of the water.

Panic rose in Will's throat as they continued to travel to their destination. _What if Beckett gets both the chest and the key? Is he going to force me to kill pirates for him? What will he do with Elizabeth? Will he have her hanged for the crimes we were accused of before our interrupted wedding? I can't believe I allowed for him to convince me to leave the ship without a thorough search for Elizabeth… for _someone_ recognizable. Well, certainly he won't hesitate to have Jack, Barbossa, and Gibbs hanged…_

The young Turner recalled Joana mentioning that Elizabeth had been ill when last they saw her. Questions needed to be asked. Will motioned for his father to take over the helm, and sauntered over to her with a grim expression on his face.

_Ha_, Joana mused, watching him approach. _Apparently there is someone more miserable than I on this ship. _

"Hello, Miss Sparrow," Will muttered, standing above her and blocking the sunlight from her eyes. _What does he expect me to do?_

She stood up quickly, noticing that he was still a couple of inches taller than her.

"I've not been called that before," she countered, an odd expression on her face. "…but calling me Joana is perfectly suitable."

"You needn't have gotten up," he told her gently. "Would you rather sit?"

_Why… what for_, she mused suspiciously.

"I'm fine with standing," she managed to say.

"Alright. Well, since you are now up, would you mind if we spoke in private?"

He had caught her off-guard, yet she was not going to show that.

"I don't mind."

With that, Captain Turner led the way into the organ room, which was empty of all crew, and pirates as well. He took a seat at the instrument, indicating for her to sit down next to him.

"Do you know why Elizabeth is ill?" he asked her. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Could this man think of _nothing_ but her? Could _anyone_, for that matter, think of nothing but her?

Joana was torn. The issue of Elizabeth's pregnancy was certainly lingering over her head, and she feared this captain's response should she reveal the information. Because Elizabeth had claimed that Will was the only person who could be the father, Joana would not mention to Will her own opinions and observations. This man was one to be pitied, not one to be riled up.

"It was Spanish fly," she muttered, her voice coming out quite timidly.

"What did it do to her?"

"Um… well, what it's doing to her now isn't related to its primary function," she began. _Oh, bother, I'll just read to him directly from the book._

_What is she talking about? Flies have functions now? _Will mused.

She fished in her corset for the book, pulling out the tome. Of course it was utterly and completely destroyed by her being shoved by Beckett off the _Pearl_ and by subsequently being forced to tread water in the harbour.

Joana never felt more alone or more helpless. Before she could even think to begin to answer the captain's question, she felt the impending tears, and soon began sobbing. Standing up with a start, she angrily threw the ruined book to the ground, covering her face with her hands as tears ran down her cheeks in torrents. Will sat dumbstruck at the bench in front of the pipe organ, not understanding her sudden anguish.

Joana cursed quietly in Portuguese, disgusted at all that had happened to her in the recent past. _My book is gone forever, courtesy of my mother's murderer… in addition to my knowing that my father is going to hang, along with Barbossa and Gibbs; the _Black Pearl_, Dad's beloved ship, taken by the same despicable man responsible for my mother's and my book's death; and all anyone can do is worship that unfaithful,_ _lying wench Elizabeth Turner!_ _Sick or no, it must be nice to have everyone around you love you_._ I'm cast aside and discarded, never made to feel like I belong anywhere! And now, no matter where I end up, I have lost my sole medical reference and can't even do the job I have trained for for years!_

Suddenly she felt someone—or something—touch her shoulder, more of a subtle poke than anything else. Joana used her hands to rub the tears from her now-puffy eyes, and saw that it was Captain Turner who had touched her.

"What's wrong," he asked her gently.

"Everything," she replied, voice laced with bitterness.

"What do you mean? This book, you say?" He held the book in one of his starfish hands, open to a page with runny blotted lettering, ruined by water.

"It's ruined," she said, sniffling and looking away from it, feeling a new surge of tears coming on.

"No it's not," Will said carefully.

"What are you talking about? It's unreadable! It was destroyed by seawater!"

"Well, it's only unreadable to me because I don't know what language this is, but I can make out individual words and the marks above them."

"You're joking." Thinking he was making fun of her, she snatched the book out of his hands, seeing water-faded pages with only streaks remaining of the words. "I'm sorry, but there's no way you can read this."

"It looks perfectly legible to me," he said. "Being as I embody the sea, perhaps I am able to look right through what I have, indirectly, caused."

"What is the first word on the first page, then?" she asked him, challenging him. _If he is just trying to make me feel better by doing this, he should realize that it's making things much, much worse. The first page describes arthritis, I do remember. Let's see if he can decipher that._

"Artrite," he said with perfect confidence. "I may be pronouncing that wrong, but—"

"What are the next couple of words," she interrupted, taking in a breath. Was it actually possible he could read the completely ruined pages? _Artrite_, Portuguese for arthritis, had quite a big heading.

"Let's see, the next word is… well, it looks like 'inflammation', but it's spelled differently. There's a little curve under the 'c' and a little squiggle over the 'a.'" He continued, realizing that she looked a bit impatient. "The next word is 'das,'" he said, butchering the pronunciation, "and the last one looks like 'articles', but is spelled a-r-t-i-c-u-l-a-then the 'c' with the funny curve-then the 'a' with the squiggle-then 'e'-and 's.'"

He handed her the book and she gaped at it, seeing not a trace of those words on the wrinkled yellowed page.

"Do you feel a little better now?" he said, looking earnest.

"I'm not sure," she replied truthfully. "Only you can read it."

"Well, probably anyone in my crew could, as we—"

"But none of you know Portuguese, which makes it—"

"Oh, that's Portuguese then?"

"Yes," she said, only slightly irritated that he had interrupted her.

"So you're from Portugal, I take it?"

"No. I was born in the Azores, an island chain a distance off the coast of Portugal. I've never been to the mainland."

"Seeing as that is a medical book, are you some kind of doctor—"

"I'm a doctor's assistant," she replied grimly. "This is my only guide to treating all the ailments I'll come across."

Will could see that she was disheartened. This book was very important to her and was essentially lost to her, being as it was now completely illegible to her. _Too bad there's no way I can undo the damage of the seawater_, he mused, watching her head droop.

"Well, how about this? If you want me to help you rewrite the book, I can try to spell out the words for you."

Her expression brightened, head shooting up.

"Do you really mean it? You'd do that?"

"Of course, Miss Sparrow. After all, we have another week and a half before we arrive in Southampton."

She looked at him with a rare smile, wanting very much to hug him. He had such an air of propriety around him, for such a doomed-looking fellow with a slimy bandanna tied about his head. And why shouldn't she? Poor bugger didn't even know his wife was being unfaithful, him doomed to live aboard a craggy ship with drippy sails, having starfish for hands.

Joana had thrown her arms around his back before he could even register what she was doing.

"Thank you," she whispered into his still-human ear. "This means the world to me."

"Don't speak too soon. You may not be feeling as such once I start butchering your native language," he replied soberly, eliciting a laugh from her as she released her grip of his barnacle-covered back.

* * *

Late that evening in the darkness of Elizabeth's cabin, after having reclothed himself in his knee-length billowy white shirt, Beckett removed his breeches and underdrawers, dipping them in the water of the soapy pail, then of the second pail.

His coat and waistcoat hung on a nail by the door, the key hidden in the compartment of the coat where he usually kept his small pistol. Only he was familiar with this particular compartment, but even so, the key could be felt through the fabric. He glanced at Elizabeth as she slept, moving towards his coat so as to better conceal the key. No use having to explain why he was keeping the key….

He quickly decided to tuck the key into his boot, and squatting down, easily tore back a couple inches of the tattered inner lining. The boots were reinforced with lengths of metal to keep them stiff and thus the key would be nearly impossible to be discovered in one. He pushed the key into the slot between the lining and the shell of his boot, and returned to the pail.

After he was satisfied with how long the clothing had soaked, though feeling self-conscious in such an unclothed state, he flapped the articles of clothing as quietly as possible in the still air of the cabin, hoping they'd dry semi-fast in the wind he was creating each time.

It was then that Elizabeth stirred from her sleep, having felt an odd breeze in an unexpected place.

"Cutler—what in the world are you—"

"I didn't want to wake you." _Damn it_, he mused. _A couple more minutes and they would have been sufficiently dry._

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the cabin as she soon became aware of what he was trying to do. He shied away at her direct gaze, hiding his bare legs behind the damp breeches.

"Suddenly shy?" she said. "I've seen it all before, you know…."

Irritably took over as he remembered the flogging both on board the _Pearl_ and in his cell. In fact, during the second flogging he had been dressed exactly as he was now.

"I am _trying_ to be respectful," he said, edginess in his voice.

"Why don't you just let those dry overnight and get some rest?" she suggested. "Just think—how you feel right now is how I feel in my nightgown."

"Well, alright," he said, moving back towards the bed. He looked down at it briefly, at Elizabeth's remaining largely in the center of the bed. Without saying a word, he turned away. Suddenly, he felt something soft hit him in the back of the head and turned around, looking down at the ground to see his wig, rumpled but otherwise intact. His gaze then traveled to Elizabeth, who was smiling at him.

"Where are you going?" she asked him inquisitively. His eyes lit up, as he glanced down briefly at the wig on the floor.

"You never granted me permission to stay in your—"

"Don't be such an arse," she said with a grin. "Of course you can stay here."

* * *

"But I don' wanna go!" William Morgan wailed, as he attempted to escape from his seat next to his mother on his father's new splendid coach, Julia Morgan's tight grip on his wrist acting as an effective restraint. It was nearing nightfall as the caravan of coaches headed to their new home, the former admiral's home.

"Your father knows what's best for you, love. Look at Thomas, Johnny, and Kitty. They are behaving themselves perfectly."

William's three siblings sat across from the youngster and his mother, dressed in their finest clothes. Thomas Morgan III, age fifteen, was dark-haired, with dark eyes and a hint of stubble appearing in the region of his sideburns. John, age eleven, had dirty blond, wavy hair much like his mother, but was chubby-cheeked and freckly. Kitty, or Catherine, as she was named at birth, had mousy hair and was slender, quite small for a child at the age of seven. At the moment they looked much like a painting, which was especially rare for them.

The normally rambunctious Kitty was not accustomed to being complimented for good behavior. Not subtly enough, she stuck her tongue out at William, age six, the youngest sibling of the Morgan family.

"I saw that, Kitty," her mother cautioned.

William attempted to stand up again, but was wrested to the seat with one forceful tug from Julia.

"Aren't you excited about getting your own room?" she said soothingly to the boy at her side.

"I'm scared to be alone!" he cried.

"You're quite the dastard then, eh?" Thomas remarked, eliciting laughter from John, who quickly clamped a hand over his mouth.

The rage in Julia Morgan was immediately apparent.

"How dare you use such language in front of your siblings!?" she shrieked, releasing her grip on William's wrist to stand up on the coach. Moving steadily in the rattling carriage, she leaned towards her eldest child and slapped him across the face.

"Oww!" he moaned, putting a hand to the burning cheek. This was rather unexpected, being as it was Father who was administrator of a heavy amount of punishment for each and every misstep.

"Where did you ever hear such foul language!?" Julia demanded, again plopping down next to William.

"Well, Father, for one," Thomas replied, watching her carefully for another burst of anger.

Realization came to the woman. _I can certainly believe that. When his temper gets the better of him—which is rather often—he often says many foul things_.

"If you didn't set him off so often, you wouldn't have to hear such things from him!" she countered.

"He's never happy," Thomas muttered under his breath. John could only gape at him with wide eyes.

"What did you say?!" Julia squawked.

"Never mind."

"So what's going to happen to Hampton House?" Kitty asked earnestly, her eyes large and sad.

"It'll sit where it is, until we need it again," her mother replied.

"You mean, it's not gonna be torn down?" William inquired of Julia.

"Of course not. Where did you hear such things?"

William immediately pointed at his brother Thomas, who could only scowl.

Julia couldn't help but feel a sense of disgust over her eldest child. He was mean-spirited and quite the bully to his siblings. _Well, he certainly didn't pick that up from watching me_, she mused, flashing Thomas a look of disappointment.

"He said it was gonna be torn down, an' our maids were gonna hafta live in the gutter," William said, gripping his mother's wrist out of fear.

"Now, that is not true in the least. Several of our maids are in the coach behind us, and the ones that elected to stay behind will work in the upkeep of the house and will continue to live there."

* * *

As soon as Beckett entered Elizabeth's bed wearing nothing but his knee-length shirt, there was something about his otherwise nonchalant expression, a suggestive nuance that Elizabeth couldn't ignore. A bare, hairy leg brushed against her leg as Beckett snaked his body through the mess of blankets. She watched him carefully.

Though he played it casually, there was definitely something about the way he was moving against her in the bed, not trying in the least to avoid her as before. It was… unnerving to her, being put in such a situation with someone with whom she had had _two_…well, four, really— major intimate experiences.

The small of his back rested against the largest part of the swell of her pregnant body, as he kept his head turned away from her. She felt the baby kick against the warm obstruction.

All of a sudden, Beckett let out a great sigh, and turned over, his face now mere inches from her own.

"So," he said dispassionately, wetting his lips. "Shall we commence with un-sisterly activities?"

Her face turned a shade of crimson, eyes widening with shock. She had never expected him to so brazenly bring up the subject again. His peaceful yet unreadable expression did not change.

"Are you doing this merely to make the crew believe that we are in some sort of relationship?"

Beckett looked mildly affronted.

"Make them believe? _Au contraire_, Madam. I daresay we _are_ in some sort of relationship."

"What do you want from me?" she replied, eyes now narrowed with suspicion. "You always hated me. You would have had me hanged. What are you trying to do?"

"I never hated you," he replied, unfazed. "And as for your second statement, it makes no sense to assume that all who I have hanged I have hated."

"So what are you saying."

"I am asking you to let bygones be bygones."

She frowned, disappointed by the answer. He spoke again, this time with a strange tone of voice. His eyelids were heavy, voice silky.

"I believe I have made my intentions quite clear. Tell me, what are yours?"

Elizabeth was taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered.

"Well, let's think for a moment, shall we? _You_ kidnapped me from the _Black Pearl_ and have forced me into bed rest, whilst you gallivant around your newly commandeered ship with _your_ men, proclaiming _your_ stories of triumph and certainly falsehoods about what we have and have not done!"

His face became like stone at her derision, expression devoid of all emotion. A sigh occurred to him.

Immediately Elizabeth felt completely awful. The feeling came upon her unexpectedly, her having uttered such a malicious comment against the one person who had treated her better than all others—well, at least in the past few months, and though he had his own reasons, had not made any underlying intentions obvious. The person she had enjoyed spending time with, bantering with… even having only earlier today considered living down the street from! And now she was disparaging him right to his face. Those weren't her feelings about him. Those weren't her feelings at all.

A terrible silence fell between them as she averted her eyes, his cold gaze remaining on her reddening face.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, after another couple of moments. "You've been very kind to me as of late. I am grateful for all that you have done."

"Right," he said in a scornful tone.

"I am speaking the truth."

"Do you take me to be a fool… or do you not realize just the hollowness of your so-called 'gratefulness.'"

"Believe what you will, but I know my feelings on this matter—"

"Your feelings are entirely apparent to me. You needn't explain yourself any further." His tone was polite, but each word cut like a knife.

His statement of not needing further explanation had the opposite effect on Elizabeth. _Now he's going to think I hate him! Or at the least, feeling indifferent towards him! I need him. I can't let him go thinking that I have any sort of negative feelings against him. God help me; I _need_ Cutler Beckett._

"Cutler, believe me when I tell you this. If I wasn't married to Will…. I…I'd…."

A barely perceivable smile that had mysteriously materialized onto Beckett's face grew with each of Elizabeth's stammered words.

"You'd _what_," he asked, a little twisted smile of amusement on his face.

"Well, I didn't really know you then—the non-business side of you, that is. The sometimes-inappropriate, frightened… angry… _teasing_ side of you. The human side of you. I hated you by your actions, your business-related arrests and executions. God… I really hated you."

"Yes, that is now perfectly clear. You hated me."

"And yet—" she began, eliciting a miniscule rise of Beckett's eyebrow.

"Yet—after your rebirth, as it were, upon being pulled onto the _Pearl_, I've gotten to see many more sides of you. And—"

"And _what_," he said, a naughty little smile on his face, as he listened to her explanation.

"And that's all I'm going to say until you do some explaining! What about you, hm?" she said in a snappy tone. "Are you merely trying to have your way with me, with all of this doting and—"

"I was doting? I wouldn't call it that. Actually, I'm not entirely certain what doting is."

"You're avoiding the question."

"Oh, yes, the question. I am not merely, as you say, 'trying to have my way with you'. If I had been, it would have already been done."

"Is that what you think," she said with a nasty little sneer. "That you could have convinced me to—"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. But, since that is not my intention—"

"What _is_ your intention, then?"

A blush crept up his neck as he pieced together the words to say. She had, very bluntly, put him on the spot. He had hoped to string this out, to play this for a bit longer before explanation. Yet, here it was—a request for an answer. And what she had said earlier was quite… encouraging. He bit down briefly on his lower lip, releasing it before speaking.

"To be perfectly honest… I have become—quite fond of you," he told her, voice confident but unemotional as he stared directly into her eyes. She looked away during his continuation of speaking. "I had not planned on such a feeling to arise, but it is out of my control and so I am resigned to follow my—"

"This can't go any further; do you hear me!?" Elizabeth suddenly cried, almost choking on her words.

Beckett's lips parted with surprise at her outburst, him a bit amused by her spurting out so emotionally a phrase it seemed that she loathed to say.

"And may I ask, why can it not—"

"As unfortunate a situation as it places me in, I am a married woman. If things had been different, I don't know where you and I would stand. But I married Will, not you. Besides, you were too busy murdering innocents and wrenching around the heart of poor Davy Jones during that time to win me over, and so you wrote your fate. I know I have been the absolute _worst_ wife as of yet, but I am determined to make it up to—"

Beckett wasn't thinking clearly. He was irritated and a rage was building up within him, at her overused and quite pitiful excuse.

"You're wasting your time," he blurted, interrupting her mid-sentence. She froze, eyes narrowed.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your bloody so-called husband, your excuse of excuses for an unending bevy of guilt, is a lost cause. I happen to have it under excellent authority that Captain Turner is now the embodiment of Jones, both mentally and physically."

"What? From whom? What are you talking about?!"

His face was stern, jaw set. A sour expression marred his boyish features, a sinister rendition of a man whom as of late had remained decently light-hearted, albeit bitter and cynical.

"Just what I said. Mr. Turner is a lost cause. Irredeemable. I highly doubt he will even be able to return to the land of the living when your time comes to reunite."

"Who told you this?!"

"I cannot say."

"Tell me, or I will not hesitate to kill—"

"Just a moment ago, you were spouting off what seemed to be almost declarations of l—"

Suddenly a dagger was pointed directly below Beckett's Adam's apple, its point eliciting a rather sharp pang of pain. He remained completely unfazed, eyelids heavy as if tired.

"Taking rash action, are we? Temper temper, Elizabeth. Rather difficult to extract information from a corpse, I would imagine."

"Tell me," she growled dangerously.

"The _Intrepid_ happened across the _Dutchman_ during our travels," he remarked coolly, voice steady and confident. _Damn it. She absolutely cannot leave this room so as to speak with any of the crew about this, or else she very well may kill me. Certainly cannot allow that to happen…._

"And how were you able to speak with that crew?"

"We were in close proximity with the _Intrepid_ earlier this afternoon, and they informed me of this development."

Her eyes narrowed menacingly.

"Are you telling the truth? If not, I swear—"

"Yes, I am. Elizabeth, your husband—is corrupted. He would rather reject his duties and roam about freely than look forward to a reunion with you in a decade or so—"

"Enough!" she cried, voice breaking.

Beckett immediately fell silent. The room held an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, as he turned onto his other side so that he was facing away from the quietly sobbing form of Elizabeth.

_Damn it; why did I have to blurt that out? Now, instead of forgetting about Turner, he's going to be fresh in her mind. I'm being quite the dolt…._

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the wait in updating, but this chapter was ridiculously long and I had to cut it back a bit! Did you like what you saw? There are some really great developments in the next chapter, I assure you!

Hint: Elizabeth gets the wrong idea, and Beckett doesn't try to correct her.


	22. Revelations

Chapter 22 – Revelations

* * *

Elizabeth awoke the next morning in a sort of daze. She opened her eyes to the sight of Beckett's short but wavy hair on the pillow next to her, his body facing away from her. Was it true what Beckett had said about her Will? Was it possible that Will was wandering the seas, morphing into Jones all the while?

Yawning silently, she draped her legs over the edge of the bed, direly needing to use the facilities. However, the makeshift one currently in her room was certainly not usable now. Her knees ever so slightly creaking, she stood up for the first time in a while, feeling the painful pressure from her full bladder. Her heavily-laden womb didn't help her uncomfortable situation any, either.

Still clad in only her nightgown, she slipped on a pair of simple shoes she kept tucked under the bed, and left the room for another venue with which to relieve herself. She opened the door and shut it very quietly behind her as she left the room, careful not to wake Beckett.

As she headed down to the forecastle, several of the crew were awake in their hammocks, murmuring amongst themselves. She quickly hid behind a wooden beam, listening to their conversation.

"I think we've lost the _Intrepid_ for good now," the crow's nest crewman said. "Hopefully she was able to escape the _Dutchman_ intact as well."

"Argh, Bullock. Don't even say that word aloud," a second man commented. "Just the word brings chills to me spine. Still can't fathom how she left us without a single threat to our lives."

"I chalk it up to luck," another said. "Perhaps her new captain is a better man than Jones. Good thing we held our fire."

"I couldn't agree more," Bullock commented.

Elizabeth couldn't even breathe for the moment. _The _Dutchman_ was here?! Meaning, Will was here?! Why didn't he come aboard? Certainly the captain of the _Dutchman_ can traverse a ship such as this. But wait—Beckett said the _Dutchman_ crossed paths with the _Intrepid_…. It had to have been this ship instead. Why did he lie to me? Oh, he's going to get it when I get back to the cabin…._

"You sure they have a new captain?" another man piped up. "Looked an awful lot like Jones to me."

"I'm certain it wasn't…. Still had two good legs an' no bloody squid for a face!"

"Well, what of that moustache? It was movin' around just like a tentacle. An' the barnacles! Maybe Jones is still around, but is improvin'!"

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. _Beckett was telling the truth last night? Will looks like Davy Jones now? But why?_

"Well, hopefully they won't be returnin' any time soon. Wonder what the chap wanted from us," the first crewmember commented. "Maybe he thought we had the chest."

"Not sure, but I did hear a door slam. Sounded like he may have entered that sick girl's cabin."

"Right. I do recall that. Wonder what he thought of that—"

Suddenly Elizabeth let out a trembling breath that she had been holding for the last minute or so. The eyes of the three conversing crewmen turned to her.

"Where are the heads?" she asked them, voice breaking, as she stepped into view. She knew very well where the toilets of the _Black Pearl_ were located, but she needed a reason to be here, having been eavesdropping on them.

"It's the sick girl! Wot you doin' up an' about?"

"I think she just answered that." He turned to Elizabeth. "Dreadfully sorry for the impropriety of my crewmate here. He don't know how to speak to a lady. The heads are that way," he said, pointing towards the bow of the ship.

She nodded a silent _thank you_ and quickly remembered her original purpose for leaving the cabin.

Once she was finished and was headed back for the cabin, she couldn't help but feel utter shock. _Will was here, he was in my bloody cabin, and yet he didn't think to wake me?!_ _How could he do such a thing!?_

* * *

When Elizabeth returned to the room, she found the door to be locked.

_Oh my God. I remember now. It locks from the inside. What a dolt I am. _Though being locked out of her cabin disgusted her, her mind soon wandered onto other matters.

_What reason would Will have to enter my room and then leave without saying a word to me? Oh my… could he have been searching for the key to the chest? I have to find that key—oh, God, what if Cutler has it? _

Feeling intense frustration, Elizabeth became increasingly agitated outside the door. She could hear movement about the ship and began slowly panicking, hating to hear any more about her husband's time aboard, during which time he apparently entered her room but neglected to wake her!

In a fit of desperation, Elizabeth took a deep breath and pounded on the door to her cabin, jaw set with hurt and betrayal.

* * *

Beckett had been sleeping rather peacefully—that is, until a loud rap on the door caused him to startle awake. He cautiously opened his eyes from narrow slits to a normal view, realizing immediately that Elizabeth was no longer beside him. _How did she avoid waking me? And being that she's gone at present, where did she go? _

Another loud rap and the sound of Elizabeth cursing under her breath alerted him as to what had happened.

_Bloody hell. She knows about Turner._

"Let me in!" he heard her shout into the door, as he attempted to push the blankets off his chest. He was not wearing his breeches, clothing items that were still hanging by the door in an attempt to dry. His eyes went wide, pupils small as he gaped at the door, imagining what sort of weapon with which she'd commence to murder him. _Oh, why couldn't I have made up some sort of explanation for Turner's presence so as to cover my arse for when this day would come_, he mused, his throat going bone dry. _I was ridiculously naïve in thinking I could keep her in the cabin forever, away from everyone aboard._

"Oh, wake up, you dolt!" her voice bellowed, only slightly muffled by the presence of the door.

Beckett gulped as he watched the door intently, slipping a leg out of bed and letting his foot brush across the wooden floor.

"I'm coming," he mumbled irritably in a gravelly morning voice, surprised at how his voice broke mid-sentence. _I am not looking forward to this_, he mused, allowing for both his feet to rest on the floor as he creakily stood up.

Wearing only his shirt, he glanced at his clothes hanging by the door. _Mayhap I should die with dignity_, he mused, considering dressing himself before facing Elizabeth's wrath.

"I know you're awake!" Elizabeth hissed into the crack by the keyhole. "What is your problem? …Ohh, if you don't bloody open this godforsaken door, I'm going to—"

"What," Beckett said dully, swinging the deftly unlocked door wide open to reveal the fact that he had not dressed himself quite yet. He had poorly hidden the fear in his eyes by attempting to appear tired, but the way he held his mouth made his anxiety apparent to her.

Elizabeth was revealed to him in this swift movement wherein the door was opened by Beckett, her eyes a mixture of fury and anxiety, standing before him, unarmed and wearing only her nightgown and a pair of flat shoes.

_I honestly do not recall hearing her awaken. She's quite the sneak_, he mused, feeling much better already at her lack of a killing tool.

"Why didn't you open it sooner!?" Elizabeth fumed, shoving him aside as she moved past him. He stood there in his knee-length shirt and stockings, feeling rather stupid, as several crew gathered around the open door. Rather than let them watch, though, he shut the door in their faces.

Immediately Elizabeth moved to the bedside table where the key had previously been. Beckett took in a sharp intake of breath as she yanked the drawer open, finding the key to be gone.

_The key was here yesterday, _she mused, anxiety increasing by leaps and bounds each passing second._ I remember ensuring it was there, just to be absolutely certain. I had just hidden it there from where it was placed within my clothing._ _Oh my God; he took it… Will took his key back without even saying a word. He _had_ to have seen my bloated stomach. The fact that I slept through much of the daylight hours should have been worrying enough! How could he not wonder what I have been going through?_ _How could he be so cold, so callous, so unfeeling?! _

_Oh my, maybe _that's_ why Beckett is now being so kind to me,_ she mused, pushing items around in the drawer just to be sure._ Maybe he feels pity on me for what Will did, in entering my room, neglecting to wake me, and then taking the key without so much as a word! _Her eyes filled with tears but she stubbornly held them at bay. _Maybe that's why Beckett said that Will is a lost cause. He just didn't want to explain exactly _how_ he is a lost cause. That would explain how he knows what Will looks like…. Well, before I get carried away, I'm going to check Beckett's clothes, just to be certain. _

With a loud scoff, she shut the drawer, turning around to face Beckett, his eyes unconsciously widening at the enraged stare from Elizabeth. He kept his hands down at his sides, though this felt like the sort of time he should throw his hands into the air to beg for his life. She was glaring daggers, and he felt their intensity burning into his eyes. Beckett kept a steady countenance, his body completely immobile—or was it simply frozen from fear?—chin tilted slightly upwards as if waiting for the accusation.

_It's all over between us sooner than it could even begin_, he thought, feeling melancholy. _Are those tears in her eyes?_

"Where is it?!" she bellowed, the question more rhetorical yet simultaneously aimed at Beckett.

"What," he said dumbly, voice thick. _This is it. I've been discovered—how could I have been so stupid, so blind, as to think she couldn't figure it out on her own?! I have totally underestimated her thus far. And before I can even explain she'll end my miserable existence once and for all._

Without another word, tears not quite spilling out of her eyes, Elizabeth stormed past Beckett towards the door, immediately thrusting her hands into the pockets of Beckett's coat upon reaching the wall. When she came up empty-handed, she moved to his waistcoat and then to his breeches. All the while Beckett stood where he was in the center of the room, utterly helpless, turning around to watch her as she searched for the key.

"What are you looking for," he asked blandly, watching her back as she searched his possessions.

His heart nearly stopped as she knelt down by his boots, feverishly reaching her hand inside and feeling about the inside of the footwear. She vehemently searched both boots, and then proceeded to stand and face Beckett, a tear running down her cheek though her face showed anger.

Briefly she glanced at what he was wearing, looked him up and down, to try to discern any possible outline of a key hidden in his stockings, to no avail—and saw that his billowy shirt afforded no pockets. The key to the Dead Man's Chest, to Will's heart... was gone.

Elizabeth's mind leapt into overdrive, a new deluge of horrific thoughts entering her psyche.

_So you've turned into Davy Jones, Will… You're supposed to be between worlds, and yet you're here, snatching back the key you entrusted me! Being as we exchanged no rings, that key was like a wedding band to me, the symbol of our marriage! You know very well I couldn't keep the chest aboard the _Pearl_. I had to leave it on that island, but I kept it well-hidden. I had the key with me all this time, so your heart is safe. As if you could expect me to wait on an uninhabited island for ten years, clutching the chest to me as I sleep! Well, maybe you could do such a thing, but it's something I simply cannot do. And now… leaving me with naught but a missing key! _

_Maybe that's why Beckett was washing me. Maybe in Will looking for the key on me, he got slime or some other fishy substance on me. That's entirely possible…._

She studied Beckett's expression carefully, at his innocent, wide-eyed expression as he watched her with apprehension. _He is certainly well-aware that I now know that Will was here. I don't think I've seen him look quite as petrified before. _

Suddenly, the baby kicked within her, and she was temporarily distracted, glancing down at the obvious bulge in her nightgown.

_Will's baby. From the time when he loved me. I've been holding onto you for all this time—for what? Will no longer cares about me. He probably won't even return to the earth during the appropriate time. You'll have to grow up without a father. _

Suddenly, Beckett let out a long breath, shifting uncomfortably on his stocking feet, causing her to look back up at him.

_Well, maybe not…._

Oddly enough for Beckett, it seemed that the pure rage on Elizabeth's face had faded into a sort of acceptance. He moved the fingers of a hand ever so slightly along the fabric of his shirt, in order to adjust the article of clothing in the name of decency. Elizabeth took this interlude as an opportunity to ask Beckett a question weighing on her mind.

"Why didn't you tell me that Will was here?" she asked him in an almost-whisper with narrowed eyes, suppressing her next breath as she waited for a response. His eyebrows rose, gaze wandering briefly before settling back on her intense stare. Other than that, he didn't move a muscle.

"Well…" he stammered. "I didn't think it would—that it was…" He took a large breath. "It isn't what you—"

"Are you being kind to me now only because you know that he came here—just to take back his key and leave?"

"His… key?"

"You know, the key to the Dead Man's Chest."

"Oh. That. I wasn't able to see what all he did upon entering your cabin," he replied, thinking he would faint from the rush of relief flooding to his head.

A nerve-racking pause followed, cut off by Elizabeth's insistence for an answer.

"I believe I asked you a question," she said quietly, her voice on edge.

"No," he said carefully, giving her a sort of sidelong glance.

"No, _what_?"

"No, that's not why I'm being kind to you."

"You do know that he was here, though—wait, why did you lie to me about the _Intrepid_ being the ship to cross his path?"

"I knew it would upset you to know that he was here without informing you of his presence—and entering your cabin without even waking you…instead taking back, as it seems, what he had originally entrusted to you."

Beckett's words stung her, but she replied in a strong voice.

"What did he look like? Was he angry?"

"He has partially transformed into sea life. He looked quite determined, from what I can recall."

"So you were serious when you said he embodies Jones physi—"

"Yes."

"What does he look like now?" she asked.

"Do you really want to know," Beckett said, swallowing some of the fear he was feeling at speaking of something he had hoped never to mention.

"Yes," she said carefully. "I do want to know."

"Please sit down then," he said, indicating the bed with a nod, a grim, tight-lipped smile on his face. Silently Elizabeth sat near the pillow, clasping her hands nervously in her lap.

Beckett proceeded to sit down next to her, clearing his throat as he recalled the sad state of young William Turner.

"His hands… are starfish. His moustache, is an antennae now… and moves about as he speaks. His hair is now seaweed, and he's covered in barnacles."

"Oh my God. Why do you think that happened to him? I thought he would stay human—"

"It's most likely because he's not fulfilled his duties as captain of the _Dutchman_. He's neglecting his purpose, and is thus neglecting his future with you—"

"What would have possessed him to return?!" she fumed, speaking more to herself than to Beckett. "To locate me on this ship and then to refrain from waking me, just to take back his bloody key! Taking back that key is like taking back the wedding band I never received! He has cowardly ended this marriage with naught but a word!"

"I don't know," he sputtered, staring off into space, then down at his boots, which sat beneath the nail supporting his coat and waistcoat. "But, then again, it _is_ as if he has undone the marriage with his action…."

"I wasn't asking you!" she snarled.

"I'm sorry."

Suddenly Elizabeth realized perhaps Will had a reason for what he had done. _I haven't been a faithful wife in the least_, she mused. _Maybe he was informed of this or could sense it in some way. But why would he then turn away his child? If he is aware of my unfaithfulness, surely he knows the worst of what I did was not enough to conceive a child. How vile of him, to leave me here, without even allowing for me to explain myself! But… then again… what _would_ I say, if he had let me explain? I don't think I could promise him that I'd never repeat the same mistakes again. Oddly enough, with all that I've done wrong to him, I can't justify what he did to me, either. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with _him_? _

"No, I'm sorry, Cutler. I didn't mean to blow up at you."

"No, it's my fault."

"How can you say it's your fault when it's clearly the result of an irrational thought process going on in my empty head."

"Your head isn't empty. It's full of knowledge… adventure… passion…." He watched her expression transform from annoyance to disbelief, and continued speaking in a lazy drawl. "Well, you can't deny it's certainly full of brain material, at the very least."

"Somehow I even doubt that," she replied with a scoff.

"Well, give me a moment to fetch a sword and we shall see about that."

Her jaw dropped with mock surprise.

"Doesn't sound like the sort of thing a person such as yourself, obligated as you are to me, should say."

"I think my back's nearly healed by now. You could always take another stab at it."

With that Elizabeth gave him a little slap to the upper arm.

"Ouch," he cried in a sarcastic monotone.

"Poor baby," she cooed mockingly.

Beckett blinked indignantly.

"I resent tha—"

His sentence was cut off by the sudden presence of her lips on his own. Elizabeth rolled onto her side as she used a hand to pull his body against hers, feeling him ever so close to her as the kiss continued. He turned over onto his side as well as they lay face to face, lips joined. They shifted gradually so that their bodies lie lengthwise on the bed.

_I am free now… _Elizabeth mused_. Not that I in any way respected being tied down before…. I guess I can say I'm free of guilt now as well…._

_Well, she certainly made the first move,_ Beckett thought._ Later on, when she decides to berate me for having taken advantage of her in a vulnerable state, I'll simply tell her that she acted first. _

It was Beckett who then took the reins, lips locked with Elizabeth's as he raised his lower body off the bed, lifting a leg up to lay it on the other side of her legs. Soon he was straddling her as they continued to kiss. He was still at this point clad only his knee-length shirt and her in her nightgown. Letting a sigh escape through his nose, he ran the palm of his hand from her shoulder, down her arm, to her waist, lingering lastly at her hip. The region he had touched was oddly ticklish, causing her to squirm and relinquish the kiss for a moment in an attempt to stifle a giggle.

"That's not very nice," she half-whispered, half-giggled.

"How about this, then," he said, moving his hand deeper into the mattress so it was now supporting her bottom.

"Even less nice."

"And this?" he said, eyebrows lifting as he shifted the nightgown fabric up on one side of her bottom, replacing his hand on this exposed part of her rear. Watching her intently, he bit his lower lip as he gave her bottom a little squeeze. Elizabeth squirmed with pleasure.

"You keep that up, you're going to be in trouble," she whispered, as his face lingered inches above her own, his eyes affixed onto hers.

"And what, pray, will that entail?"

"You don't want to find out," she replied coolly. A minute of thick silence followed.

"Actually, I do, being that my curiosity is getting the better of me right now."

She slowly snaked her own hand down towards her hips. In a flash, she yanked up his shirt to navel height, temporarily exposing an area of anatomy wholly distinct from her own. After Beckett's flogging she had seen this particular aspect of his anatomy, yet this time it was much, much closer to her. And still rather impressive.

Beckett's jaw dropped at what Elizabeth had just done, at what she had just purposely seen. An evil little upturn of the lip, and he was moving his hand towards—

"Don't you dare," she cautioned him. "It's downright ungentlemanly… wholly improper."

"Ah, yes, because propriety is such an important issue at this point in time," he remarked with a sneer, hand not wavering from its slow advancement. "Don't I dare do _what_, exactly."

"You know very well what I mean. Exposing my naughty bits."

He almost choked on a sudden burst of laughter.

"Naughty bits? Not hardly." He leaned his head back away from her a bit so that his face was no longer directly above her own. "They are the 'bits' of the body designed to produce the most pleasure; to evoke the instinctive, animalistic desire we all possess to an extent… some more than others."

Beckett's extravagant description of what she had always been mildly ashamed to even think about, caused little pangs of arousal to flood through her as he spoke of them.

"Tell me more," she said dreamily, looking up into his eyes as his face remained stoic.

"What." He had been caught off-guard.

"Tell me more about what you were just saying." Her smile was infectious, briefly overcoming his face, only to fade quickly as he began speaking again.

_I'd rather just move to the physical, incoherent-sound aspect of it_, he mused.

"Very well. So although we possess such attributes as morals and reasoning, the human race cannot help but reveal the primitive nature of our very basic necessities: food, shelter, and the desire to propagate, to retain the bloodline. In order for this third necessity to be accomplished, we have been bestowed these so-called 'naughty bits,' the instruments of both our reproduction and the pleasure that accompanies this act."

"So I am assuming you must have children aplenty out there," Elizabeth commented.

"Actually, you'd be wrong in that assumption," he replied with an air of conceit. "I am, as opposed to Jack Sparrow, for instance, far more selective in my choice of mate. And so I have neither married nor willingly conceived any children."

At that, Elizabeth let out a sigh.

"Anything else? Your talk of elitism is boring me."

"Oh, is it? How about, rather than explaining, I _show_ you what I'm talking about," he said with perfect confidence.

Elizabeth felt a throb of longing within her.

"I already saw it," she said quickly, face reddening with embarrassment.

"Obviously." His irritation was growing more apparent by the second. "What I meant was—oh, never mind. Bloody hell."

He pulled his hand away from where it had been wedged underneath her, lifted his leg over her so that his body was all to one side, and proceeded to get out of bed.

"Wait, what are you doing?" she said.

He walked towards the door, to her utter dismay.

"I don't want you to go," she said, sitting up so that she was leaning against the headboard. "I know what you're talking about… and I'd love to learn."

He took another several steps towards the door as she felt like leaping out of bed and grabbing him by the neck. All of a sudden, a small skeleton key appeared as he lifted his hand, locking the door.

"You fooled me on purpose!" she whispered in a raspy tone. "I thought you were leaving—"

"Quite the contrary," he replied, turning back around, voice arrogant. "I merely wanted to force you to understand the implications of what I had just said without my having to explicitly define them for you."

"Oh," she said quietly. _He speaks so eloquently. I do admit, I rather miss hearing such talk, having been on a pirate ship with men speaking monosyllabically for months and months on end._

"Are we clear then," he said in a deadpan, stone-faced.

"Yes."

She watched his face brighten momentarily, and then watched the expression of interest fade as quickly as it had appeared. This irked her to no end.

"Are you ever going to show some semblance of emotion?" she retorted, feeling frustrated at his blank expression. _If he'd only show a bit of excitement about what's to come, I'd be much better off as well._

"I find it better that those moments are few and far-between. However, I'm willing to make an exception for you," he replied, a ghost of a smirk appearing on his face.

"Then do so."

"I can see you are yearning for it, and so I must tease you with it for a time, in order for you to benefit most from its effects. Much like the act of reprodu—"

"Ohhh, just get over here, or I'll change my mind," she hissed. With that, he moved hastily to her bedside.

* * *

A/N: Hee hee! So here we go again for you Beckabeth-philes! In addition to Elizabeth and Beckett, there will be Will, Jack, Barbossa, Joana, Peter Longfellow, Julia and her kids... So... Interested in seeing more Beckabethiness??


	23. Cheese

A/N: Thanks to the readers and reviewers! And now, a very fun chapter to write and hopefully fun for you to read!

* * *

Chapter 23: Cheese

* * *

In between spelling out foreign words and sentences, Will Turner attempted to learn more of Elizabeth's ill health. He and Joana were making slow progress on copying the book, and it was beginning to get quite frustrating for Will.

Will strode around quickly on main deck, barnacles pulsating as if uncertain. Jack's daughter had successfully dodged all questions regarding Elizabeth's state of health all day, understandably causing him a good deal of worry. Will's crewmates on the _Dutchman_ could sense this anxiety in their captain, and several times asked him how he was doing.

Koleniko was the last to ask such a question.

"How are ye feelin' today, Cap'n?" he asked the youthful sailor, who was pacing nervously about the main deck, his starfish hands clasped behind his back. Upon hearing the question, Will stopped pacing, walking hastily to his pufferfish-faced crewmate.

"Well, let's think, shall we? My wife is ill with some sort of Spanish fly bite, I allowed for the Royal Navy to slip right through our fingers, and I neglected to kill Lord Beckett when I had the perfect chance to do just so! How do _you_ think I'm doing!?"

Bootstrap, Clanker, Jimmylegs and Palafico had been working nearby and could only shudder as they watched their formerly good-natured captain turn irritable and bitter. It was as if they were witnessing the transformation of Will into Davy Jones.

Meanwhile, Pintel. Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton were not content with the _Flying Dutchman_'s sparse accommodations. The only sort of food the _Dutchman_ had were dead fish that had become impaled on the spiny projections of the ship's hull. Time and time again Ragetti begged random _Dutchman_ crew to fetch some of the half-rotten seafood from the outside of the ship. In other instances Marty ventured out himself for a sample of the unintentional food, very close to falling from the ship more than once.

Bootstrap had become oddly quiet, watching his son struggle with the thought that Elizabeth _had_ run off with Jack Sparrow and had been caught _en route_ by the Royal Navy. Most of the time he sulked below deck, hoping for a speedy journey to Southampton. Truth to tell, he wished for them to return to their duty, if only to get the blasted starfish off of his face. It itched now more than ever before.

Joana was the only person aboard deck who dared make eye contact with the embittered captain. Upon the ending of his diatribe she held up her book with anticipation. Sighing with annoyance, Will followed the pirate captain's daughter to the organ room, determined to extract some information from her. His easygoing nature was fading away with each day's deflection of the question that had to be answered.

"So Elizabeth is ill because of Spanish fly," he asked for the third time that day, in more of a statement than a question, as she wrote down a particularly long word. Joana had deflected the question successfully twice before, much to his dismay.

"Yes," she said, subtly rolling her eyes.

"What does it do?"

She swallowed a lump in her throat. _I may as well tell him. Otherwise, he's going to keep asking me until I_ _proceed to leap from this ship and rescue Father myself._

"Well, before I tell you what it's doing, I must inform you of another health condition she has."

Will looked terrified, eyes wide and nostrils ever-so-slightly flared.

"She is pregnant."

"What?!" His eyes seem to grow as large as saucers, antennae moustache trembling.

All of a sudden, the young captain of the _Dutchman_ stood up indignantly, briskly walking away from her.

"It's yours," Joana called out after him. _At least, that's what Elizabeth claimed, though I'm not inclined to totally trust her word. Of course, he doesn't have to know that fact…._

He turned around, a raw new barnacle on his cheek pulsating occasionally. The blunt statement from this strange girl embarrassed him.

"But it was only for one day—"

"Sometimes that's all that it takes," Joana said soothingly. "It's yours."

"Oh my God; that's incredible," he stated, a hint of a smile on his face. "Yet… now she's sick. Could she lose the baby?"

"Spanish fly _could_ cause that to happen," she said carefully, "but she had been fighting it up until last I saw her and may have beaten its effects."

"I've not heard of Spanish flies. Where are they found?"

"It's actually a ground-up powder, a drug."

"Why on earth would she take such a thing?"

"She didn't. It was accidentally given to her, but intended for Fath—Captain Sparrow."

"I see," Will said, fuming. He had to hide his animosity for the backstabber who had previously swayed his love interest's feelings, and most certainly was doing so again. He couldn't begin to deride Jack at the moment, however, for the man was Joana's father. "And what, pray tell, would it have done to Jack?" he asked, jaw set.

Joana's face flushed.

"It is an agent that causes strong sexual feelings," she stammered, looking down at her yet unfinished copy of the medical guide. "It was meant to keep him occupied for a night while the _Pearl_ sailed off without him."

"And Elizabeth took it."

"Yes."

"And was she affected by it in its intended—"

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

The barnacle on Will's cheek stopped pulsating.

* * *

As Beckett approached Elizabeth's bed, she grew increasingly concerned. She was pregnant—what Beckett was proposing was an impossibility, right?

"What kind of a look is that," he said in a deadpan. "Already regretting your decision to live a guilt-free life?"

"I just don't see how it's possible to…" she began, glancing down at her stomach.

"Oh. That. Right. Well, as long as nothing heavy rests on your stomach, you should be fine."

"Maybe I should consult with the medic first—" she ventured, a teasing corner of her mouth inadvertently rising.

"From now on, you needn't be concerned with him. I'm taking care of you."

He swallowed his last word, realizing its implications. Had he just said such a thing?

Elizabeth felt a strong blush coming on. It may have been the sweetest thing she had ever heard Cutler Beckett say.

Suddenly he turned away, headed for the clothing hanging by the door. Quickly he pulled the breeches off of the hook and slipped them on, facing away from her as he did so. He adjusted his clothing as her expression became more and more confused.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Speaking of 'taking care of you,'" he added hastily, "you haven't eaten yet this morning. Let me fetch something for you. Stay here—"

"That really isn't necessary," she replied disappointedly, watching him leave the room without so much as another word.

* * *

"William, you are sharing this room with Kitty," Julia Morgan said, setting her youngest child down on one of the two twin beds in the spacious room. His sister stood nearby, her expression dark. Kitty stamped her foot angrily.

"Why can't I have my own room? You promised that when I was old enough, you'd let me have Uncle's room—"

"Well, we're not in that house anymore," Julie said, irritation written all over her face. "And you're not yet old enough to have your own room."

"There's got to be a hundred rooms in this place. I could have three rooms all to myself."

"You could, but you're not old enough. I don't want to get into this with you, Kitty. Be a good big sister."

"You weren't even a good one! Why should I be one?!" the child cried.

Julia momentarily lost her train of thought. How could her children understand the relationship between her and her brother Cutler? It was an utter nightmare, and she had always been on the receiving end of it.

_Little brat would run up and down the hallways while I practiced on the pianoforte, rapping his knuckles on the door to scare the daylights out of me. And of course, I'd then lose my concentration and the tutor would become disgusted with me, and commence leaving. No one ever seemed to notice the things he did wrong. It was as if they suspected he was destined for greatness, and that if they made a misstep early on in his life, they'd pay later. Actually, that makes a bit of sense, come to think of it now…_

_I do recall one man to treat Cutler in youth as he truly deserved. A longtime gardener of the estate named John, a grouchy old fellow with a peg-leg who could not find it upon himself to tolerate Cutler's constant pranks. Cutler would always play tricks on him—the half-rotted corpse of a rat in his bag of potting soil, a dangerously loose shovel handle, the wheel removed from the wheelbarrow, flowers snipped cleanly off. Though these tricks irritated the gardener, what eventually caused him to quit were Cutler's constant accusations of piracy. Cutler believed that because John had a peg-leg, that he was a pirate, and would say such things in front of guests and family alike. When John finally decided to quit he went to Father and told him Cutler's wicked deeds had been the reason. I do believe that was to be the only time that Cutler had ever had his hide tanned by Father…. The only time he had ever paid for his misdeeds. And because John quit thereafter, he never came around again and was thus never bothered again by Cutler…. Almost._

_Shortly after Cutler became lord of the East India Trading Company, John, old and decrepit and living quietly on the outskirts of town, was tried and sent to hang for piracy under the decrees of, interestingly enough, the East India Trading Company. I know damn well who had accused him of such a ridiculous thing—and had subsequently pushed the punishment. Cutler had always gotten his revenge. _

_He never had to get his revenge on me, however. Father and Mother would always look away, would seemingly ignore any snide comment Cutler would make, any nasty little thing he'd do. They worshipped the little prig, and I had to take the fall for when items would go missing or broken, as if _I_ was the black sheep of the family. I resented him during my entire childhood, resented him up until the point of his alleged death aboard the _Endeavour_. I had figured then that he had finally paid his dues. Yet, just as countless times before, he avoided punishment again._

"I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. You need to be a sister to William, at the very least. Don't you want him to look up to you?"

"I don't care. I wanted Uncle's room."

"We don't live there anymore, so you can't get his room."

"Whose is it then?"

"It's still ours. We just live in a bigger, better place is all."

"But what if Uncle wants his room back?"

"'Uncle" has vowed never to return. It is because he was such a terrible brother that he cannot stay there, and has not stayed there in the past."

"You always say how he is so terrible to you. But you're a terrible sister to him," Kitty stated matter-of-factly.

Julie's face darkened with rage. How dare Kitty accuse her of such things! If she only knew the whole story!

"How can you say that?!"

"I heard him say he was sorry when he was in his room. But you still don't forgive him."

"You don't understand just how much he put me through—"

"I thought people were supposed to forgive an' forget. Especially family. But you can't."

Julie swallowed her anger, attempting to get back on subject.

"Why won't you try to be a good big sister then, to not do what I did?"

"Well, bein' that you're the big sister an' you stayed home around Grandpa, you got everything. An' because you don't like Uncle, he didn't get nothing. You won."

_Is that really true? Have I in a way, beaten my brother at something? Enacted my revenge for all the torture I went through, having to live my life in my younger brother's shadow? I do admit it was rather liberating getting to slap him around, but triumphing over him in this way is a much bigger deal. Yet, is that the example I should set for Kitty? To try to 'defeat' my brother?_

* * *

Beckett returned in a matter of minutes with a tray containing a rather enticing mix of foods. Elizabeth's stomach rumbled as she noticed the individual foods. There were several slices of what appeared to be an apricot, several cubes of cantaloupe, a small bowl of steaming grains, a roll of cabbage or lettuce, was it?, and what appeared to be—could it be…cheese? It had been months since Elizabeth had been able to sample cheese. Where had he gotten it? Was this sort of food appropriate to eat during pregnancy? Before it could even leave her mouth, her question was answered.

"I spoke to the medic, and he agreed that because you've shown a great deal of improvement already, that you can move on to a variety of foods," he remarked.

"Is that cheese?" she said, eyes wide with intense curiosity. She stared at the yellow opaque block sitting atop the tray, hearing her stomach rumble. Immediately she realized how hungry she had been.

"_Kasseri_, to be precise," he commented. "I presume that you enjoy cheese."

"Oh, very much so. I adore cheese," she explained quickly, her smile growing as she noticed several more pieces of cheese lying on their sides on the tray, previously unseen by her. He moved closer to the bed, the food on the tray now accessible to her.

"Where did you get it?" she asked. "I know for a fact that none of the pirates brought such a thing aboard—"

"Some of the Royal Navy crewmen bought food in town, before ambushing the _Pearl_. I just so happened to swipe some of what was still left over." He pointed at the roll of cabbage. "This is called _dolma_. I've heard it's quite good."

"Would you mind if I sampled the cheese first?" she asked, staring hungrily at the pale yellow cube. Before he could reply, she had grabbed two cubes, tossing them into her mouth and chewing them up quickly, a big smile on her face.

As she closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of the cheese on her palate, she felt a sharp little slap to the top of her hand. Her eyes flew open in indignation.

"What was that for—"

"You're not enjoying it properly. I did not sneak into the captain's personal galley in order for you to quickly gobble down what I worked so hard to acquire."

"Then what do you propose I do? Stare at it until I starve?"

"No. Open your mouth," he replied, quietly but insistently.

Caught off-guard, she couldn't think of anything to do but obey. He picked up a cube of cheese from the tray and watched her intently, as she shut her mouth to prepare to speak her next words.

"You're not listening," he commented.

"What are you going to—"

"Just open your mouth."

Rolling her eyes, she did as such. Within a moment, Beckett leaned forward, bringing the hand holding the cube of cheese to her mouth, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing her lips as he laid the cheese upon her tongue. She began to close her mouth on the food, watching him carefully all the while.

"Slowly," he said. "Enjoy the flavour, the intermingling tastes in it. Don't make haste to launch it directly at your stomach."

The cheese sat on her tongue as she allowed for the cube to rest firmly between her tongue and palate, tasting the intermingling sharpness of the cheese, the soft texture of it as compared to the piece of hard rind attached. She focused entirely on slowly allowing the cheese to dissolve in her mouth, realizing she had never had this particular kind of cheese before.

After a couple of minutes, her mouth free of the cheese, Elizabeth was finally able to ask a question. Beckett had since set the tray down on the bedside table and was watching her expectantly.

"I've not had that kind of cheese before. Where exactly—"

"I figured you'd ask. Quite a unique flavour, eh? It's a Turkish cheese, bought here in Constantinople. Did you like it?"

"Yes, very much so," she said, flashing him a smile.

"Shall we commence with the next piece then," he said, with a trace of a smile, watching her mouth water.

"Don't you want any?" she asked.

"I had a piece on my way here. I'd much rather watch you enjoy it."

Within a minute or so, Beckett fed her the next piece of cheese, his eyes widening ever so slightly at her immediately closing her lips upon his finger and thumb, though her teeth stayed out of the way. He had not noticed until this point the smooth warm texture of her lips, which cradled his finger and thumb in warmth and moisture. Her tongue rose up underneath the digits, the rough softness of it causing a strange new sensation on his finger tips. All the while she watched him with a naughty little expression, an eyebrow raised as if challenging him.

He did not attempt to move his fingers, instead letting them remain where they were.

All of a sudden Elizabeth was causing some sort of suction within her mouth, her tongue cupping his fingers from below. Beckett cocked an eyebrow, watching her smile grow, feeling his fingernails brush against the dissolving cheese cube within her mouth.

"I highly recommend swallowing that cheese before you are apt to choke on it," he commented dryly, watching her lips purse around his motionless fingers.

He could sense that the cheese was dissolving, and soon felt her tongue move indicative of swallowing.

"There," he said, subtly flicking his index finger about to find the cheese cube was now absent. With his free hand, he set the tray down on the bedside table, watching the focus of her gaze. Her eyes did not track the movement of the food tray. Upon setting the tray down, Beckett's face was closer to her own, and he leaned downwards toward her, feeling her mouth release his fingers. With expert grace he pulled them out, resting them on the mattress on the left side of her body as he continued moving towards her face.

Within a matter of moments, Beckett's lips touched Elizabeth's. He placed his left knee on the bed, leaning over his own body, feeling the swell of her belly brush against his own stomach. She lifted her arms, cradling his jaw as he angled his face to match hers, tasting a hint of kasseri cheese as his tongue was welcomed into her mouth. Without hesitation, he lifted his body so that he was now on top of her, knees straddling her at her hips.

The sharp flavour of the cheese occurred to him as their tongues intertwined in her mouth and then in his. He felt her fingers running through his hair and let out the softest of groans. It was so liberating, to finally have her for his own. And all it had taken was allowing her to assume away without disagreement.

He did not wish to only be connected to her via mouths, and lowered himself onto her, feeling her squirm as his stomach made contact with hers. She stopped kissing him momentarily, in order to speak.

"The baby, Cutler—"

"Fine," he said coldly. Before she could even speak, he lifted his left leg, falling onto his side beside her. She turned onto her side immediately, ready to apologize for causing him to stop. She had never intended on making him stop, and was enjoying every moment of what was happening. Without a word Beckett grasped her around the waist and pulled her onto him, watching as she placed a knee on either side of his hips, keeping her upper body raised with support from both arms on the mattress.

"That won't do at all," he said in a deep half-whisper. With his now freed hands, he grasped Elizabeth's arms by the elbows and lifted them off of the mattress, allowing for her body to slowly rest on his own.

"Am I too heavy," she replied with a gasp. "Is the baby—"

"No, and no," he said, bringing her face to his own, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

* * *

Peter Longfellow strode to the brig of the _Intrepid_, hands clasped regally behind his back. It still reeked of excrement down here, but upon their return to Southampton, he'd begin his training as an officer and would no longer have to deal with the banality of his job as a cabin boy.

"Oi," he heard the dreadlocked pirate say, upon his appearing in the brig. At closer inspection he saw that the pirate was speaking to him. Captain Jack Sparrow looked rather uncomfortable, shackled so as to allow minimal to no movement, sitting on the dank floor.

"What is it?" the boy replied innocently enough.

"Have you had th' distinct pleasure of gettin' to know Cutler Beckett durin' your journey here, boy?"

"Why do you ask?" Longfellow replied suspiciously.

"I'd figure that since he prob'ly hand-picked you all, you'd have to personally know him."

"You'd be wrong about that."

"Which part?"

"He's not the captain; he's just crew. The admiral picked the crew," Longfellow replied, curious as to where this conversation was going.

"Really," Jack said, thoughtfully stroking the braids on his chin. "An' who, pray tell, _is_ th' admiral of th' Royal Navy these days? Ol' Kensington still around?"

"No, he passed away recently. It's now Morgan."

Jack's eyebrow rose with interest.

"_Morgan_, says you. Would that be a one 'Thomas Morgan?'"

"Yes," Longfellow replied, intensely curious. "Why does it matter?"

"I shall divulge to you th' particular importance of this individual in th' greater scope of th' world if you shall reveal to me why Admiral Morgan has chosen to capture us alive."

"I don't know," Longfellow replied.

"No idea wotsoever? Obviously as admiral, Morgan isn't goin' to need th' reward that killin' us will warrant, an' he's no longer in th' runnings for a promotion. Furthermore, if he wanted revenge on pirates, he'd do jus' as well havin' us killed where we stand."

"Maybe he wants to question you, to get information about something," the boy muttered. "So, what is so interesting about Admiral Morgan?"

Longfellow rather hated Thomas Morgan, who had broken his promise to him after all he had done for the man in convincing the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ to leave the safety of his ship. Every day, he felt fortunate that the Kraken hadn't been sent after him for his role against the infamous ruler of the seas.

"Ah ah, I think you know more than you think that we think you know," Jack said with a sneer. "Pray, wot information in particular is he lookin' to acquire from us?"

"An' why would I ever tell you any more? You tried to escape earlier!"

"Can you honestly find fault wiv that? Surely upon reachin' our destination, we'll be hanged wivout a word. Don' tell me you wouldn' do th' same, had you been in this situation."

"I came down here merely to ask if you were hungry," Longfellow replied coldly.

"As a matter of fact, we be hungry—fer information, that is," Barbossa suddenly said, looking up from his position shackled on the ground. "Tell me, boy, ye e'er think about becomin' a pirate?"

"Ha, as if that sort of talk will get 'im to divulge," Jack commented. "Barbossa, you've no tact wotsoever."

Barbossa shot Jack a glance of spite, since that was just about all the movement he could make.

"I'm going to be trained as an officer of the Royal Navy," Longfellow said with a touch of arrogance. "I'll spend my days huntin' down pirates like you."

"Tell me, boy, what rank will ye be acquirin' upon completion of yer trainin'?" Barbossa asked.

"I assume it to be officer cadet, but I am confident I will ascend rather—"

"I can guarantee ye that yer rank will be a good deal higher. Quid pro quo. Ye tell us what _we_ want to know, an' we'll inform ye o' developments that only ye will know. Privileged information will be quite useful to ye at this point in yer… career."

"Well, if what you say is true, then you can first tell me what's so interestin' about Admiral Morgan," the boy said. "I got less of a reason to trust you than you got to trust me."

"Morgan jus' so happens to be Cutler Beckett's brother-in-law," Jack commented matter-of-factly.

"Ohhh," Longfellow said, looking deep in thought. _Maybe that's the reason why Beckett's life was spared. But Morgan doesn't seem to be the type to grant favours, least of all to an in-law…._

"Now it's our turn. Wot use would Admiral Morgan have for us?"

"Like I said before, for questioning. You are the ship that saved pirate-kind from the East India Trading Company's fleet. You, more than anyone else, would know where other pirates are located." He took a quick breath, not wishing to divulge with his eyes or expression anything more. He had to exude an easy confidence. "My next question is—why did you save Beckett from death aboard the _Endeavour_?"

"That was not our doin'. I myself would have shot 'im on sight. However, 'lizabeth had other plans for him, an' so enacted those plans."

_Elizabeth,_ Longfellow mused._ The girl with the key to the Dead Man's Chest. I guess the admiral was on the right track in his search for the _Black Pearl_. So she _was_ on the _Black Pearl_… but where is she now, bein' as she's not in the brig with these pirates?_

Barbossa shot Jack a nasty glance, shaking his head with disappointment. Immediately Jack realized that her name was not meant to be mentioned. _Oh, bugger._ _Now the boy will probably run back to his superiors and mention that Elizabeth, the Pirate King, was once on th' _Pearl_… that is, if they've not already captured her an' stowed her elsewhere…._

"Okay, it's my turn now," Jack said. "Wot all did Beckett say about his time on th' _Black Pearl_?"

"Nothing, really. Most of the time he asked me questions about the admiral and such."

Barbossa suddenly let out a loud scoff.

"We're divulgin' an awful lot, only fer ye to tell us ye don' know anythin'. Fer ye to do yer end o' the deal with us, ye have to have somethin' to say, boy."

"Well, what do you want to know? What you've asked me I don't know."

"How did Morgan come to be th' admiral of the Royal Navy?" Jack suddenly blurted. "I recall him to be quite th' disagreeable, stubborn sort… to say th' least. Kensington would've never granted 'im such a promotion… that is, unless he did somethin' _very_ important indeed."

Sparrow had put him on the spot. But even if he were to reveal that the Royal Navy had found the Dead Man's Chest, the pirates sitting before him would be dead within a week's time. What, really, could they do with that information? Additionally, they had revealed to him that Elizabeth, the bearer of the key to the Dead Man's Chest, was once on the _Black Pearl. _If he divulged a bit, perhaps they could reveal to him where she was now—and he'd certainly be on his way up the ladder—or they could reveal other important information to him. The more Longfellow thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Admiral Morgan would be in favour of his promotion… that is, unless _he_ did something crucial as well. Crucial, as in finding the key.

"It is because he—well, _I_, really—found the Dead Man's Chest," Longfellow said with a sigh. It had been difficult to reveal such potent information to enemies, but the benefits he could reap from further questioning could put him above Admiral Morgan, possibly. And if he then told the pirates to keep mum about certain topics to Admiral Morgan, then only _he_ would ever know what they had told them—and they would take the information to their graves.

Jack, Barbossa, and Gibbs all looked startled. The prostitute was too busy mumbling to herself in Turkish to realize the implications of what the boy had said. And even if she had, she would not have cared in the least.

"An' has Admiral Morgan opened th' chest?" Jack ventured to ask, keeping his voice low.

"It's my turn to ask a question," Longfellow replied, cutting Sparrow off.

"What plans did Elizabeth have for Beckett? To marry him?" the boy asked.

"Ha!" Barbossa said with an involuntary laugh. Immediately he regretted the outburst. The three pirates stayed dead silent.

"What's wrong?" Longfellow said. "Quid pro quo, right? I'm just curious as to why he was allowed to live, being as he was the sworn enemy of pirates."

The fact that the pirates had clammed up after mentioning her name was highly suspicious. It was very possible that she had high importance, say, in being the very bearer of the key to the Dead Man's Chest.

"Revenge," Jack muttered slowly.

"So Elizabeth didn't save him because she cared about—"

"No," Barbossa replied curtly. "Our turn. Jus' as Jack asked ye earlier, has Morgan opened th' chest?"

"No," Longfellow replied. He direly wished to know where Elizabeth was now. Certainly the Turkish prostitute, sitting in the corner mumbling to herself, was not an 'Elizabeth'. This woman had to be elsewhere.

"We've got to start askin' less yes or no questions," Jack whispered to Barbossa. "I think we're losin' this deal."

"Where are the other members of your ship?" Longfellow managed to ask.

"How are we supposed to know somethin' like that," Barbossa shot. "We be captured soon after the ambush. There's no tellin' where the others be at present."

It had been a disappointing answer. _Perhaps this Elizabeth is still in Constantinople. Perhaps she has been taken prisoner aboard the _Black Pearl_ with some of the other members of the Pearl's former crew. _

"What, if anythin', has come of Morgan's acquirin' the chest?" Barbossa then asked. He shot Jack a triumphant look, being as this was certainly not a yes or no question. "What," he mouthed to Jack, in reference to the sort of question he had asked.

Longfellow froze. Really, all that had come of it, was that the _Flying Dutchman_ appeared briefly, then disappeared. _No harm in saying that…._

"The _Flying Dutchman_ appeared. Then it just… disappeared."

"An' her cap'n… did Morgan get to see him?"

"Yes or no!" Jack barked at Barbossa in a snappish tone, in pointing out the nature of Barbossa's question. The taller pirate captain's neck turned red with embarrassment.

"Yes," Longfellow admitted. "If your crew have not all been captured by the Royal Navy, are they all in Constantinople?"

"Aye," Jack said, a bit too eagerly, caught off-guard by being so happy at hearing a simple yes or no question.

"Why did Morgan want to see th' captain of th' _Dutchman_?"

_Damn it_, Longfellow mused. _Now this is something I will not admit. However, I must say something._

"He wanted the captain to do him a favour in exchange for the chest."

"An' wot favour would that—"

"My turn," the boy said, trying so hard not to show his fear. "Who on your ship died during your travels?"

If he didn't hear the name of Elizabeth, then he'd have to assume that she was alive, and in Constantinople, if not already caught. Of course, it was doubtful if the pirates would admit her name even if she had died, being as they fell silent upon mention of her name—but then again, if she _was_ dead, what harm could befall her?

"No one, though we'd planned on Beckett bein' the one who would. If he has revealed in your travels that he escaped the _Pearl_, he'd be lyin'. We actually threw 'im off th' ship. He had chances to escape an' didn't take 'em. I find myself believin' that he probably would have stuck wiv us had we not tossed him overboard… an' so now he's exactin' his revenge on us in this way for endin' his piratin' life early."

"Oh," Longfellow said, immediately curious as to what exactly went on aboard the _Pearl_. What the pirate captain said sounded extreme, but it was plausible. That would change Beckett's story a bit, but the fact that Beckett was now on the correct side of the law probably made up for however long he had considered staying with the pirates.

"Now, wot favour did Morgan want the _Dutchman_ to do for him?"

An excellent thought occurred to Longfellow.

"To find the _Black Pearl_."

"Well, obviously they needed Beckett's help for that, so that favour was, I assume, not granted."

Longfellow suddenly realized that he had chores to do on the main deck, and the crew might become suspicious if he didn't appear on time. This meeting was supposed to be a simple question of hunger—and it had turned instead into an exchange of crucial information.

"Right. Well, I have to go now. Oh," he said, pulling a flask out of his coat pocket and squatting down to push it across the floor. With a little shove, he pushed the flask of rum so that it ended up at Jack's feet. "Here's some rum—for your troubles."

As Jack used all his efforts to bend down in an attempt to pick up the flask with his teeth, Peter Longfellow hastily exited the brig.

* * *

Elizabeth lie atop Beckett, realizing that she could now be guilt-free in doing whatever she wished with this man she had grown fond of over these past several months. Their lips were locked as Beckett ran his fingers up and down her sides, eliciting a giggle from her before realizing he had been touching a ticklish region. When his hands began venturing upward again, Elizabeth used her own hands to grab his arms and position them so that his hands touched the bottom hem of her nightgown.

At this silent feedback from her, obviously a very encouraging movement, Beckett held his breath, and only until he felt a cough coming did he let it out.

She replaced her mouth on his own, moving her fingers increasingly downwards, towards the bottom of his knee-length shirt. He felt inexplicably vulnerable, what with being pinned down by this woman, Elizabeth, knowing that she was moving in for the kill. Yet, rather than regain control as he had been so accustomed to over the years, he allowed for her hands to venture further and further southwards until they had found their mark—and then began tugging his shirt upwards, the breeches downwards.

When his shirt arrived at the crucial region just under the curve of his buttocks, he could no longer stand this teasing play. Something had to be done—by him. _Lying here passively is not what I had originally planned, though it is rather enjoyable._ _Perhaps this is what Elizabeth had to do to the Turner boy—and I am certainly not going to be that sort of lover. Egh, why did that thought even occur to me?_

Taking the initiative, Beckett hiked up Elizabeth's nightgown in one smooth movement, exposing the skin up to her midsection. With a newly freed hand, he slipped the breeches down to knee-level so as to even the score, as it were. Hopefully, since she had to be on top, she'd get the picture….

"Oh," she said, lifting her upper body slightly off of his, realizing they were both nude from the waist down. Her face turned crimson at the physical depiction of his obvious interest in what was to come. She hesitated, unsure of what to do next. Suddenly Beckett reached up for her, pulling her upper body back down on his own, enveloping her mouth in an alarmingly passionate kiss.

As she experienced this most unexpected form of affection from the man beneath her, Elizabeth lifted her lower body, slowly lowering herself onto Beckett's eagerly awaiting interest.

Beckett let a quaking hiss of pleasure escape his lips at this most intimate of all sensations. He was now one with Elizabeth, who had finally come to her senses to give herself to him.

As she felt herself filling in a most delicious way, Elizabeth let out a low moan, clinging to Beckett's chest as she breathed onto his face. Beckett took this opportunity to wrap his arms around her back, pulling her against him. She rocked her hips subtly in the process, releasing a flood of sensations for the both of them. Elizabeth trembled all over now with excitement, in time with Beckett's shaking beneath her. Letting out a long, breathy sigh of pleasure, she continued rocking her hips as she leaned in to lock lips with Beckett once again. The bed creaked subtly, and she found herself smiling at the sound.

The sensations of pleasure for the pair increased with each minute as Elizabeth began to rock faster. She felt much like screaming with joy, felt like pulling her nightgown over her head and throwing it as far away as possible, but decided that the release was already upon her; there was no time. It felt as if her heart would burst from her chest; her breathing had quickened to a pant by this point. Beckett could feel this burst of pleasure occurring with Elizabeth, and the feeling of being surrounded by her pulsating body, the heat of her enveloping him snugly, immediately brought him to climax.

He let out a husky moan into the moistness of her neck, wet with perspiration, arms surrounding her as she collapsed heavily onto him. They lie there for several minutes, him remaining within Elizabeth, as their rapid, shallow breaths slowed.

Eventually, Elizabeth lifted herself off of Beckett, rolling onto her side next to him. He remained on his back for a few seconds more, and then turned over so that he was facing her.

Neither knew what to say. It had been sudden, though not entirely unexpected. Beckett's eyes wandered over her face, taking in her features, her forehead, glistening with sweat, her tousled hair, dampened in the same manner. He could not, however, directly look her in the eye. It didn't make any sense. As much as he wanted to gaze into her eyes and flash her a look of satisfaction, he couldn't. The fact that he could not do this bothered him immensely. _Look at her, Cutler, damn it! Why can't I just do what I've always done? What the bloody hell is holding me back?_

Elizabeth noticed that although Beckett's eyes wandered over the entirety of her face, he could not focus on her eyes, even for a moment. A man who was known for direct interaction, for easy confidence… for intimidation, even. All of these things required direct eye contact. She didn't understand why after such an act, he couldn't look at her.

* * *

Quite a long, busy chapter, eh? So… what'd you think? Good? Bad? …Ugly? Hehe, I will use the feedback to structure any future scenes like this, if indeed they are scenes that are desired. Thanks for your interest in this story!


	24. Betrayal

Thanks for the continued interest as well as for the feedback! I apologize for the difference in dividers-please note the new format so that the sections do not run together in your mind-but for some reason this goofy site never can accept the same thing twice! This time it won't allow me to incorporate page dividers into the chapter as I have always done! Any hints as to how it can be done from a Macintosh computer?

* * *

Chapter 24: Betrayal

Peter Longfellow sat in the empty forecastle of the _Intrepid_, feeling a wave of hope. _Now that I know where to find the key, I will have to catch the next ship headed in the direction of Constantinople. But then, the other pirates, including Elizabeth, could leave there during that time._ _Ugh,_ _I'm no better off now than I was before…._

He decided to think up some questions for Beckett, in case he would be prone to divulge more on this 'Elizabeth' person. Perhaps Beckett didn't know that she possessed the key. He felt a new hope welling up within him.

"Are our prisoners still shackled properly?" a Royal Navy officer asked him.

"Yes, Sir," Longfellow said. _I'll have to speak with them so that they do not divulge to Admiral Morgan what they have told me. I don't know exactly what the admiral knows, an' I don't want him gettin' any ideas from them._

"You should be very proud, boy. You're going to be an officer in training! I'll see to it that the admiral finds you the best ship on which to learn your noble trade!"

Longfellow couldn't help but roll his eyes. _Of course the bloody admiral has to be involved. And I'm certainly not explainin' why I'd rather that not happen. Well, perhaps the admiral will feel the same way, an' will thus allow me to get training. Otherwise, it may look odd to refuse me what I deserve._

After the conversation had ended, Longfellow decided to return to the brig to inform the pirates. It would only be another three or four days before they would arrive in Southampton, and he might not get another chance to tell them of his request.

"How could ye mention her by name like that, Jack? Now they all know o' Mrs. Turner, an' will prob'ly turn this ship about to fetch her," Barbossa spat.

"Well, you could've spoken up when they mentioned who all had died. It had occurred to me that I should've said that she had, but I—"

"What matters is that ye didn't! An' now, the admiral's got the chest an' is goin' to search fer Mrs. Turner until he finds the key!"

"Oh," Jack said. He had always presumed Elizabeth's only danger was in being revealed as the pirate king. This was a new problem. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Why d'ye care anyway, Sparrow? All that should matter to ye at this moment is escapin' this cell an' killin' all aboard, so's no one learns of what ye revealed to th' boy."

"Any ideas for that one? In attemptin' all day to squirm my way out of these shackles, I've somehow lost track of th' bigger picture," Jack remarked sarcastically.

"The master o' escape hasn't but one measly idea?" Barbossa commented with a sneer.

"Well, if we could stand up an' find in our possession an item of decent length an' strength, we'd have us a possibility."

"An' pray, what would that be?"

"You'll jus' have to wait an' see, mate."

A squeak of boards, and the three pirates fell silent. Peter Longfellow appeared on the stair, looking perturbed.

"What's yer problem, boy?" Barbossa shot, eyeing the boy up as he approached the bars

"Hello," Longfellow managed to say upon arriving in the brig. Gibbs, who had been sleeping, jolted awake with a loud snort.

"Hungry fer more information, eh?" Barbossa commented with a sneer.

"It's not that at the moment. I simply have a request to make."

There followed a period of uneasy silence.

"Well, wot is it?" Jack spoke up, attempting to shake his arms awake, for in being shackled behind his back they had subsequently fallen asleep.

Longfellow took a breath.

"I request that you not tell the admiral what you have told me."

"An', pray, why shan't we?" Barbossa replied quickly.

"It's for your own good," the boy replied.

"I can't imagine what would possess ye to want to help us; after all, ye've gotten what ye wanted."

"I think, Barbossa, that he wishes th' information that we have divulged to him should be known only by himself, for it is worth that much more if so." Jack turned to the boy. "Am I right?"

"I'm not inclined to agree," Barbossa spat, looking irritated.

"Why not?" Longfellow's face went pale, his freckles standing out in their chalky background.

"What's in it fer us, besides this so-called 'own good' ye claim we're preservin'?"

"What do you want?"

"If you would be so inclined as to liberate us from our bonds, I can _assure_ you that none of us will ever speak to the admiral, an' your secrets will be yours an' yours alone," Jack smoothly replied.

"Ha. I meant something that I actually _can_ do."

"Well, firstly, where is it exactly that we be headed?"

"Southampton," Longfellow said without skipping a beat.

"An' how far are we from Southampton at present?" Jack asked.

"Why does that matter?"

"Yer askin' an awful lot o' us, boy, an' yet yer not e'en willin' to divulge the most fundamental o' infermation," Barbossa said with a growl. "As I see it, once we talk with the admiral about such things, he may be so kind as to let us live."

"Somehow I doubt that," Gibbs muttered, kicked silently by the nearby Jack.

"We're probably three, at most four days' travel from Southampton," Longfellow said with a sigh. "Are you happy now?"

"Alright. So can you now, at the very least, have someone rearrange our shackles so that the entirety of our bloody arms would cease tingling?" Gibbs said with a groan.

"I am not at liberty to aid you in an escape attempt. Will you agree to my request? I have told you what you wanted to know. You cannot expect me to be daft enough to help you flee," Longfellow said.

"One more thing before I consent t' agree," Barbossa said, as the boy waited for a reply. "Ye wouldn' happen to know if there be apples aboard, would ye?"

* * *

"Can we not go any faster?" Will fumed, striding quickly across the main deck of the ship to the helm, where his father was currently steering the ship.

"I'm sorry, William; this is the fastest we can go above water," his father muttered. The other members of the _Dutchman_'s crew who were above deck could only stare, as it became more and more apparent that Will was losing his fight with hopelessness, and soon they'd all be exactly in the same state as when Davy Jones was captain.

"She could lose my child!" the young captain yelled.

"She's with child?" Bootstrap stammered, flabbergasted.

"Yes, but probably not for long," Will spat bitterly. "Oh, why didn't I kill that bastard Beckett when I had the chance? Now she's ill and there's nothing I can do about it!"

"Maybe bein' as she is sick, Beckett's men are takin' better care of her."

"Ha, as if I could be expected to believe such a thing. She was probably too busy cavorting with Jack in the brig of the ship to hear me when I yelled her name."

Joana, who had been standing several yards away, could not help but hear the remark made by Will implicating her father as the man having won over Elizabeth's affection.

_Will is going to kill Father when we reach Southampton_, she mused. _I cannot let him do that. He must know the truth. I've tried too hard to allow my father to die because of a misunderstanding._

"Captain Turner?" Joana said in a thin voice, moving towards the nervously pacing man.

He turned around quickly, having been caught off-guard by her presence.

"I need to clear something up for you. My father has nothing to do with this."

"Oh, is that right," Will remarked, his voice laced with poison. "Well, did your _father_ ever tell you how he stole Elizabeth's affections from me, kissing her aboard the deck of the _Pearl_ with me less than three yards away, before the Kraken made short work of him?"

"No, but I know for a fact that she doesn't—"

"And did he tell you how he attempted settle his debt with Davy Jones by betraying me, volunteering _me_ to work for Jones for one hundred years aboard the _Dutchman_… in place of him?"

"My father certainly isn't perfect but—"

"Did he tell you how he knocked me out with a paddle in the midst of a battle with our enemies? How he had me imprisoned in a ball constructed entirely of human bones by telling a tribe of cannibals that I was a eunuch? Oh, and did he reveal the time he shoved me off of the _Pearl _with naught but a barrel to keep afloat, only to be captured by Beckett and his minions? Not to mention that he was the sole reason my father was technically murdered by Barbossa and forced to work aboard this very ship for Jones—"

"No! But then again, _he_ abandoned _my_ mother, pregnant on an island, leaving her to later die at the hands of the Royal Navy!"

During this time of Joana's outburst, Will regained his composure.

"If that is so, then why are you defending him?"

"Because even though he did many bad things, what you are now claiming is not one of them!"

"She never denied to me that she was in love with Jack—"

"Well, even if that was once true, she's now with B—" Immediately, her hands flew up to cover her mouth. _It figures; at trying to smooth the situation out with miserable Captain Turner, I daresay I made the situation much worse._

"What?"

"… with baby, and—"

"No, you were going to say someone's name. Who? Who's stolen my wife from me?"

He strode quickly towards her, causing her to back up into the door of the captain's cabin. She was totally trapped, an angry, antennae-moustached man standing with a look of death in front of her, fists balled at his sides.

"I'd not thought you to be like this," she muttered, looking around nervously. The crew above deck did not move, shocked at the actions of their captain. Would he hurt her?

"I'm sick and tired of always being the pushover, the uninformed one," Will spat. "I demand you tell me who has stolen Elizabeth from me."

"I didn't want to make—I don't think it's quite like—"

His eyes bore into hers with dead black pupils, swirls of red surrounding the intense center of each of his now subhuman eyes.

Suddenly Bootstrap was behind Will, attempting to pull his son away from the frightened girl with a barnacle-covered sleeve.

Before any progress could be made in Bootstrap's purposeful tug, Will lashed out an arm and knocked his father backwards, ramming his back into a mast.

"Tell me," he demanded of Joana with an intense, frightening stare. His voice suddenly became very soft. "I won't hurt you."

A tear found its way out of her eye and onto her cheek. Already she had implicated this particular person in a major wrongdoing which had resulted in his near drowning. Now she was certainly sealing his fate.

"It's Beckett."

* * *

Elizabeth watched Cutler Beckett intently, staring at his wandering eyes, hoping that they'd cease to move for a moment or so, and then she could catch his gaze.

All of a sudden, the moment came. His eyes for an instant stopped on hers—and immediately he averted his gaze.

"What's wrong?" she said.

"Nothing," he replied curtly. "Everything is perfect."

He placed his right arm around her back, pulling her towards him with a sort of insistency. She moved towards him so that it was becoming difficult to look at him, his face becoming closer and closer to her own.

Suddenly, Beckett craned his head, moving towards her neck, confusing her completely. Before she could register what he was doing, she felt his lips on her skin. Beckett planted a trail of light kisses along the length of her long slender neck, tasting the saltiness of her sweat. Subtly he began to better taste the sweat, allowing for the very tip of his tongue to touch her skin as well as his lips. Before long he was leaving little moist regions where he'd deposit a soft kiss, feeling her squirm with pleasure and ticklishness as he did so. Smirking into her neck, he blew a cool breath lightly on the damp spots, eliciting a breathy moan from Elizabeth as he did so.

Soon she had hungrily attacked his own neck with insistent, tickly kisses, feeling gooseflesh appear on his skin shortly after beginning. Elizabeth created a tiny bit of suction as she kissed, leaving a couple of light pink spots on his neck.

After the third peck of this sort, Beckett pulled back carefully.

"I'd rather not field questions about how those came to be on my neck," he commented dryly, keeping his arm around her. He could not look her in the eye and so stared at her mouth.

"How are you going to field the questions once you can't help but moan for all to hear?"

He glanced briefly into her eyes, noticing a devilish little smirk complimenting eyes glistening with mischief. Suddenly he felt a new wave of energy and looked down at their lower bodies, then looked naughtily at Elizabeth.

Before she could reply, he pulled her up against him as they lay facing each other, side by side on the bed. He moved his right hand down to the bottom of his shirt, sensing his interest was physically growing again. During this time, Elizabeth also noticed this development happening directly under her navel. With her left foot she slowly and subtly inched his already-lowered breeches down, over his ankles, over his feet, so that he was now freed completely of that article of clothing.

He shifted his body downwards, aligning himself with her. A quick look at her resulted in a nod from her now-blushing face, and he was again within her. This time he hungrily moved for her neck, lining the glistening flesh with a fresh supply of kisses as he moved within her.

Elizabeth cried out in utter ecstasy as this most novel second position, eternally thankful that even at the beginning of her third trimester, she could still participate in such activities. Beckett certainly knew what he was doing, as she felt him contacting regions that elicited sensations she had never felt before.

She squirmed delightfully against him, wrapping her legs around his torso, her heels against the flesh of his bottom. A moan inadvertently escaped his lips at this encouragement from her, as she dug her heels into his bottom to increase the pace. She ran her fingers up and down his back, feeling the subtle bumps of his ribs as her fingers traced them. A naughty smirk on her face, she moved her hands to the region of his bottom, pinching it subtly as he moved rhythmically against her.

Both simultaneously found their release again, releasing pent-up moans of pleasure as they continued to cling to each other, their sweat intermingling and causing their bodies to be partially fused together in a cocoon of perspiration.

Beckett was overwhelmed. He had never known this sort of feeling before. It was a welling up of feeling, of unabashed contentment. Elizabeth still clung to him, and yet it didn't irritate him as it probably should have. He wanted her to remain right here with him, and him with her. Yet in attempting to look into her eyes, his eyes burned.

Elizabeth could only continue to cling to Beckett, feeling tears of joy coming on. She had just experienced a beautiful consummation to the developing relationship between her and Cutler one in which both partners were in agreement. Oddly to her, she couldn't make herself release him from her hold. Immediately she thought of the future, when the _Black Pearl_ would finally make berth, and was saddened by the possibility that this would come to an end. The salty tears ran down her cheeks as she planted a soft kiss on Beckett's cheek, depositing some of the liquid on his face.

There was, however, an element of guilt for Elizabeth, though the guilt was no longer associated with Will, who had allegedly taken his key—the wedding band, as it were— and ran. Soon she would be entering proper society, and here she was, fornicating with a man to whom she was not betrothed. So many major moral atrocities had been committed by her, yet this was one that made her feel less guilty, albeit immoral all the same. Society didn't smile upon this sort of relationship. And if this relationship continued in England—which was already doubtful, what would everyone think? They would shun her, and certainly Cutler wouldn't appreciate that. He'd probably dispose of her once she had been thoroughly defiled by other high society. She'd have to live on the street with her child. A rather vexing problem.

"Heh, I probably shouldn't be doing this sort of thing out of wedlock—" she muttered, more to herself, realizing that her upbringing would not have supported this sort of relationship. "I find myself always being improper in every sense of the word."

"Then marry me."

* * *

"Elizabeth—with Beckett? As in Cutler Beckett?"

"Yes," Joana said demurely in response to Will's outburst, staring down at the slime-covered boards of the main deck, wanting to just disappear.

"That makes no sense! She hates him! _We_ hate him! He was the one who interrupted our marriage, arresting both of us and sentencing us to death! Not only that, but he was responsible for the death of her father!"

"Really?"

"Yes!" Will shouted at her. Suddenly his voice fell to a low volume. "Are you trying to protect someone, because I don't believe you understand what exactly this betrayal means—"

"It is Beckett, I swear to you. I don't know how it came about or why, but it's him—"

"It hasn't even been a bloody year since we married, and she's already being unfaithful to me—with a sworn enemy! Ugh, if it weren't for your father's doing, I'd be dead now, totally unaware of what she's been doing behind my back!"

"I'm sorry that I've—"

"No. Don't apologize. I'm glad I know. This just confirms what I've already planned to do."

"And what's that?"

"I'm going to kill Cutler Beckett."


	25. Sweet Talking

Hello again, everyone! I really didn't mean to keep you all waiting for so long! I just finished up writing up my qualifying exams, as well as being in the midst of writing up a grant! I will reply to your reviews for the last chapter in the next two or three days. I wanted to post this so that you can all get to see it before the end of the weekend! Thanks for staying tuned!

* * *

Chapter 25: Sweet-Talking

* * *

"What?!" Elizabeth said in reply to Beckett's impromptu proposal of marriage, in the loudest whisper she could conjure. "Have you gone out of your mind?"

"No. Right now I'm thinking more clearly than I can ever remember."

"Are you on some sort of drug? What ever could possess you to say such a thing—"

"Love, I suppose," he replied in a languid drawl. The way he had said it was inappropriate for the content of his words. All the while he eyed her up and down as she rested up against him, keeping his gaze from stopping on her face for more than a moment at a time.

"What?! That word has never even been mentioned until this point!"

"It's as good a time as ever; wouldn't you agree?"

Elizabeth felt dizzy. Had he actually just asked her to marry him, in his calm, matter-of-fact way of going about everything?

"You're not being very romantic about it, you do realize. Rather, you're being… eerily casual. How can you say such a thing with so little emotion behind it—and expect me to believe what you say?"

"Oh, is that what you were hoping for. For me to fall to my knees before you, kissing your hand as I proclaim my undying love for you."

Elizabeth flashed him a little smirk.

"Well, that wouldn't hurt."

* * *

Upon the mention of Cutler Beckett as his wife's current lover, a frown painted on his face, pupils glowing black, Will trod away from Joana without another word.

Upon reaching the organ room, Will noticed Pintel and Ragetti playing some sort of idle tune on the highest keys, which had been barely audible because of their high pitch.

"Get out!" Will yelled, causing them to whirl around and stare at him. Pintel was taken aback. This was not the Will Turner he remembered, the easygoing pushover who would take anything with a shrug. This was more like Jones.

"There a problem?" Pintel asked, rotten teeth on display.

"I said, get out!" the captain shrieked, storming at them with a slight limp. The two pirates scattered, racing out of the room from two separate directions, leaving Will alone in the organ room.

Once he was completely alone, the large room devoid of all but himself, Will shut the door, blocking it with a wooden bar, as he moped over to the bench of the organ. Breathing loudly, he sat down at the organ, black eyes darting about the room in despair.

_How could she have committed such an atrocity against me? To betray me with a man whom we both despised, with good reason? What all has she done with the bastard in her unfaithful life without me? It's no wonder she left the chest behind—she has no sense of responsibility, no sense of loyalty. How I could have ever convinced myself that she'd stay true to me I've no idea. She has quite simply broken my heart. I daresay I rather hope that the possessor of the heart stabs it and ends my miserable existence._

_But then again—Beckett is headed to Southampton—the place where I fought the holder of the chest— with Elizabeth, who has the key. Could she have plotted this all along, to have them acquire the heart and control me? Or… could it be that Beckett has seduced her in order to return to power? Oh my God. He's going to return to Southampton and obtain my heart, and then I'll be completely at his mercy, just as Jones had been. And now I don't even have the Kraken at my disposal to dispatch his ship early. Of course, if Elizabeth is on that ship that would be horrific—_

_Even if Beckett _had_ seduced her, how could she have allowed herself to fall for him? She is my wife and is supposed to be completely devoted to me, just as I have always been devoted to her. Could he be drugging her? _

There came a knock on the door of the organ room, a sound that reverberated in the craggy rafters of the large space.

"What is it?" Will said with a growl of annoyance.

"It's Joana," a muffled voice spoke.

"I wish to be left alone," he replied, his voice devoid of the rage it once held.

"Please," Joana's voice said through the door. She attempted to push the door open to no avail.

"If you want your book deciphered, from now on please go to someone else," he told her. "I'm indisposed from now until the day I am freed from this curse."

She frowned behind the door. How was it that the one devoted, loyal man she had ever met was hung up on someone like Elizabeth? And was now disgusted with _her_ after demanding her to tell him information on his cheating wife?

"It's not about that," Joana replied in a raised voice. "Please—let me in."

"Come back in a few days," he said. "I'm tired."

"No!"

He turned his head to look at the door.

"What did you say?"

"Please—just let me in!"

With a great sigh, Will stood up, moving slowly towards the door. With a new realization that his ankle wasn't bending the way it was supposed to, Will limped to where Joana was waiting behind the closed door. He nudged aside the wooden bar with his hardening foot so as to permit the door to open a crack.

"What do you want," he said to her, his face appearing in the slit of light that the barely open door allowed. Already his skin had taken on a most alarming color, a subtle shade of orange, like that of some sort of crustacean. His black pupils seemed to burn through her face.

Joana had never understood why Captain Turner had transformed with alarming rapidity in the short time she had known him. At first, she had suspected it was due to his neglecting his duty between worlds, but already his appearance had startlingly changed in the course of an hour or so. There was a different force at hand. A force she wished to stop, if possible.

"I want to come in."

"Why. You've already seen this room. There's nothing left to see."

"I want to talk to you."

"I believe you've already told me what I need to know." At that, he began to shut the door with a starfish hand, feeling a resistance when he tried to push it all the way closed. Joana was leaning on the door with all her weight, and when he allowed the door to open again, she nearly toppled over.

"I don't see what you could possibly need to say to me," he remarked with a sigh. "Has my wife taken yet another lover in the time since we last spoke?"

"Can you think of nothing but her," she blurted. Will froze momentarily at the odd admission.

"Why _shouldn't_ I think of her constantly. She's my wife, and the mother of my child—" suddenly he paused, face losing some of its orangey colour. "Oh, God, you're not here to tell me the child isn't mine, are y—"

"When it was revealed that she was pregnant, she told everyone the child was yours."

"That means nothing to me now. She's a liar, a cheat. How could she do this to m—"

"I don't know how," Joana interrupted, utterly fed up by Turner's one-track mind. "I could never do that sort of—"

"What," he said quietly, eyes narrowing slightly.

"She doesn't deserve you!" Joana cried, voice breaking. Will nudged the wooden bar away, opening the door slowly as he watched Joana's face carefully, at the passionate way she had said such a thing.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked her in a strange voice.

"I've never met any man so dedicated, so loyal as you. And for you, to be doomed to a life with someone like her, her with no decency, no conscience; it disgusts me!"

He was taken aback.

"What all has she done?" he asked in a voice that sounded unsure of if he actually wanted to know the answer to the question. Joana took a step into the room, her face flushed with anger.

"It's not about what she has done; it's about her state of mind in betraying you, her husband, and her utter lack of guilt about it! She's worshipped by all the pirates, including my father, though she's wholly undeserving of it!"

"So are you saying that she—"

"I'm sick and tired of all the credit she gets! She does nothing to deserve all that she has! I cannot even speak to my own father if she's around! I don't understand what power she holds over everyone, but it's certainly a power I do not possess!"

Will could only watch in silence as the girl in front of him spoke with conviction in her exotic accent, the girl with Jack Sparrow's dark almond-shaped eyes and prominent cheekbones, donned in the clothing that Elizabeth had once worn when the _Black Pearl_ had been Barbossa's ship.

"Well, after I rid the world of Beckett once and for all, she'll—"

"She'll what? Can you ever _really_ trust her? The question is, _should_ you trust her after—"

"Enough!" he railed, raising his voice and startling her to stop speaking. "What do you propose I do then, hm?" he added quietly and sarcastically. "Kill her?"

"Of course not!" Joana cried.

"I was being sarcastic," Will muttered, looking immediately contrite for even saying it aloud, as joking as it was meant to be.

"I know," she replied. "I just think—for the sake of your own health, your own well-being, to not dwell on her—for now."

"She's my wife! I grew up loving her, and I've loved her for as long as I can remember! I cannot, as you say, not dwell on her. It's an impossibility."

"Never mind then," Joana said with a scoff. She began to turn away, realizing she'd never get through to anyone. It was like her entire life so far was her waterlogged medical reference book. It had the potential to save lives, to help people, but had been rendered illegible.

Suddenly she felt a bristly object grasp her shoulder, and she turned her head.

Will was touching her shoulder with a starfish hand, and his expression was unreadable.

"Why did you come here?" he asked her, voice greatly softened.

She paused, unsure of what to say. He remained where he was, watching her intently.

"To help you feel better. But now I realize that I don't know what I was thinking. I'll never know what you're going through, and so I can't relate."

"Why do you say never? You've a long way to go."

"Relationships always end in heartbreak. Whether it's due to unfaithfulness, neglect, or death, they all end badly. And so I've decided to avoid my mother's fate—as well as your fate—and never allow myself to fall for someone."

"But you're so young. You've quite a long time ahead—"

"I'm old enough to know what I want and what I don't want. Certainly I'm older than you are."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"How old _are_ you?" she asked him. "I'm twenty-five."

"Alright," he muttered in a defeated tone. "You're right. So, what _do_ you want then."

"I want to help people. I want to restore them back to health, to allow them to live their lives to the fullest. I want to preserve people's lives. And yet, I've not even been able to do that."

"How so?"

"My father was shot in the leg. I sutured the wound back together so that he could walk, and yet he was still captured by the Royal Navy. I tried to help—Elizabeth, but she was still ill under my care. Maybe by my book being destroyed, someone was trying to tell me something."

"I don't see what you mean," Will commented.

"It means that I've lived in vain! I grew up without a mother and father, and when I finally meet my father, all that I do is not good enough to keep him from being executed. Until I entered his life, he avoided capture. I've done no good for anyone."

"But he's still alive now, right?"

She let out a scoff.

"I'm not sure… but even if he is, he won't be for long."

"Don't worry; we'll get there in time."

"You obviously hate him. It wouldn't bother you to see him die."

"I once saved him from execution in Port Royal," Will commented matter-of-factly, watching Joana's eyes widen. "And for your sake, I can do it again."

"But you cannot walk onto land," she murmured. "There's nothing you can do. I appreciate your offer, but there's no need to say such a thing."

"I will find a way," he replied. "I need to repay you for your… brutal honesty."

"I think it's going to be too late," she muttered, feeling a bit perturbed by the way he had phrased her most recent series of comments. And in defining her comments in such a way, _he_ was now being brutally honest. A thought that brought the subtlest of smiles to her face.

* * *

Beckett knelt on the floor below Elizabeth's bed as she sat on the mattress, feet draped over the side, a mischievous smile on her face. Both wore only long tops that covered to their knees, looking much like children saying their evening prayers before going to bed.

As Beckett looked up at her form looming above him on the bed, he felt a mixture of excitement and something foreign and indefinable. And yet, he wasn't going to let this odd negative feeling in the way of what he wanted—that being Elizabeth.

With heavy eyelids and a little grin of satisfaction on his face, Beckett reached his arms to bring one of Elizabeth's hands to his face, lifting his body off of his knees to kiss the top of her hand.

_I can't believe I'm actually doing this_, he mused, picturing his actions from a point outside himself. This sort of action was so unlike him, it was scaring him to know that he was capable of doing such a thing. _What sort of spell has she cast upon me?_

Elizabeth blushed and giggled girlishly at Beckett's gentle kiss upon her hand. _Now comes the declaration_, she told herself. _This should be interesting._

After kissing her hand, Beckett sank back onto his knees and look up at her earnestly, still finding it difficult to focus exclusively on her eyes. _Must have to do with that odd secondary feeling I'm getting in my gut. No matter; it's probably normal to feel this way—not that I'd know that, really. _

Smiling at him unabashedly now, Elizabeth loudly cleared her throat. This jolted Beckett back to reality.

"I hope you don't reject me after all that I've done," he said with a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "You're touching on a level of vulnerability I've… not exposed before."

_Oh, bloody hell. Why did I just say that? Since when do I reveal my weaknesses? I've been too long away from battles, been too long away from exercising leadership…. _

Rather than reassure him, she remained quiet, giving him a little nod in acknowledging his comment.

"Elizabeth," he said in a low, husky whisper so as to prevent others from hearing her actual name. It was certainly appropriate to say it at this moment in time. A period of silence followed.

"Yes?" she finally asked, upon realizing that he wanted verbal acknowledgment of his addressing her.

"Will you ma—"

"What about your declaration of love?" she said, an eyebrow raised. This obviously amused her more than he would have hoped. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh, yes. That. Well. Let's see." He pondered for a moment what he would say, because he had very much anticipated on skipping this part and going right for the inevitable question.

"Elizabeth," he said again very quietly, "from the moment you attempted to pull the Letters of Marque from my hand, sparing my life though you had a weapon, I developed an interest in you. And then, when you were so bold as to rescue me from my watery fate, to pull me onto the very ship that sought my death, my interest grew. However, I believe it was after our reciprocal 'punishments' and your subsequently nursing me back to health that I was smitten. And now… well, it worries me to think of how I'll cope if I have to live another second knowing you're not mine."

Beckett paused momentarily, pushing the odd feeling into the depths of his stomach as he looked into her eyes, and seeing receptiveness there, continued speaking.

"Elizabeth… will you marry me."

His eyes were now affixed on hers, as she looked down at him in this most uncharacteristic position.

"Do you love me?" she asked, an utterly serious expression on her face.

Beckett's eyes fell briefly, as he swallowed quietly, his gaze recovering its previous focus. There came an overwhelming urge to roll his eyes, but he ignored it. He couldn't screw this up—this was too important.

"Yes."

"Please—say it for me."

"Say what," he said, feeling a bubbling of annoyance within. If she was going to string him along only to reject him he was going to be enraged.

"Tell me you love me."

Again his gaze fell, recovering after he swallowed again. He cleared his throat, finding this much more difficult than first thought. This was _unbelievably_ difficult to do, in fact. Was it because he meant what he was going to say, as opposed to lying through his teeth? Beckett couldn't recall anything in his life being harder to do than this. Was it because she might reject him? And obviously for that to be a consideration, he obviously did not want her to reject him, and in wanting her affection, felt affection for her in turn.

Elizabeth could see that Beckett was having a bit of an issue with saying what she direly needed to hear from him, yet whatever he was feeling during his position on the floor, his expression eternally serious, she couldn't decipher it.

Suddenly his lips parted, eyes steadily gazing into hers, eyelids fully open in his upward stare. In this position he looked much like a boy even younger than herself, all innocence and sincerity.

"I… love you," Beckett stammered, a rapid blush overcoming his face within moments of his admission. Though his face was hot, a chill ran down his spine. _How very odd indeed_, he mused all the while. His eyes fell, finding their focus on her knees, which were directly in front of his face. A nerve-wracking silence followed, as Elizabeth watched Beckett carefully, sensing his raw fear over what she would say.

"Cutler," she said to him in a voice laced with sternness. His head shot up, eyes following shortly. He remained silent, though his eyes conveyed a rage of emotions. _His eyes right now are showing the most emotion I've ever seen in him_, Elizabeth mused_._

"Yes," she murmured quietly, a little smile on her face as she said the word.

His eyebrows shot up in shock, throat immediately drying out. She had conceded to marry him! He could not help but smile up at her, feeling very much like standing up and going about consummating their betrothal.

"You've never heard me mention my feelings for you," Elizabeth added, at seeing a stir of motion from him. "Aren't you curious as to how I feel?"

"Well—I believe your answer to my question confirmed your feelings on the matter," he replied, voice breaking from the earlier shock.

"Don't you want to hear me say it?"

"Of course I do. Please, do divulge your feelings," he said gently. A little smile crossed his lips.

"Well, as you know, any blossoming feelings I had had for you were morally wrong all the while I had them. I knew this as well and I hated myself for it. I felt guilty constantly, but I couldn't help the way I felt. And as your kindness increased, sometimes I allowed for my feelings to run rampant. It was wrong of me to do so and I deserve what ended up happening to me. Yet now, I've been granted freedom to feel as I want. And so now I can announce my feelings without reservation. I honestly never dreamt I'd feel such a way again. I love you… Cutler Beckett."

She finished her statement with a smile, prompting Beckett for his next move. Without further ado, he rose from his position on the floor, and leaned down, a big satisfied smile on his face, to kiss his fiancée.

"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, pulling away from the kiss prematurely. "I must do this properly."

With that, he pulled the ever-present gold ring off of the ring finger of his left hand, and held it out to Elizabeth.

"I regret that it is not the appropriate sort of ring for an engagement," he began earnestly, "but I cannot leave your finger bare from this moment on. It will be replaced with a much more suitable alternative once we are wed."

She accepted the ring, a rather gaudy sort of gold ring which bore the insignia of the East India Trading Company.

"I'm rather surprised the Company didn't take this back from you," she said with a quiet giggle, slipping the ring onto the appropriate finger. It was only slightly bigger than needed, Beckett watching her emotionlessly as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Well, considering their only real chance to do so would've had to have occurred aboard the _Endeavour_ after I failed to order the crew to fire upon your two attacking ships, I presume there were other, more urgent issues at hand while we were being obliterated."

"Ha ha, very funny."

For the first time, Beckett felt the cold hardness of his ring from a rather different perspective, as she gave him a playful slap to the top of the hand.

* * *

"Check," Joana said with confidence, having threatened Will's king with a bishop immediately diagonal from the king, a knight protecting the bishop. It was now evening on the _Flying Dutchman_, though the hours had flown by. In her last move, she hadn't noticed the presence of his knight in the process…

Without pause, Will moved his knight into the position of Joana's bishop, sweeping her bishop off of the chessboard with a starfish hand. The chess pieces had been rendered coralline and barely resembled their respective figures. She hadn't even noticed the faint curvature of a horse's face on the piece having been an L-shape away from her bishop.

She gave a little scoff of surprise, having supposed she had trapped him in checkmate.

"All that thinking you do before each move, and yet, you didn't see my knight there?" Will commented with a barely perceptible smile, placing her bishop on a key of the pipe organ.

The pair sat face to face on the bench in front of the pipe organ, a chessboard between them, several loose pieces sitting on the keys of the musical instrument though not heavy enough to cause production of sound. The past several games they had played had been entertaining, to say the least, and Joana was able to hear Will's dry sense of humor. _This was probably what he is usually like_, she mused, enjoying the tinge of bitterness he'd inject into his more potent humorous comments. Since meeting him, Joana had learned of Will's selfless devotion to his wife, utter obsession with her state of health, joy at news of her pregnancy, and upset over her unfaithfulness. He lived for her and nothing more. He was, quite simply, a sort of man Joana had never met before. Such a man she had supposed did not exist. And here he finally was, aboard the ship of the dead, rapidly becoming some sort of crustacean.

Rather than move her knight away since it was now being threatened by Will's knight, Joana suddenly moved her knight to capture his knight, removing his piece from the board with a little smile of satisfaction. He then captured her knight with his king, placing her knight on the key of the organ's keyboard containing her bishop.

"Apparently you don't mind sacrificing your knights," he said to Joana. "You could have moved away, you know."

"If it was to any of those imbecile pirates I'd be ashamed to sacrifice a knight," she commented, a little mischievous smirk on her face. "But I'd be glad to sacrifice my knights to you."

The double entendre was not lost on Will, who was in a bit of a shock to have actually deciphered this thinly veiled act of flirtation. Or was it? The naughty look from Joana confirmed what she had meant by the phrase, and he was taken aback. She just _had_ to test him, to see if this was some sort of front—or if he truly was as devoted to his wife as he claimed to be.

Focusing again on the game, Will picked up his queen with his starfish hand and moved it two spaces in front of Joana's king, where it was not met with any resistance from other pieces.

"Check," he said triumphantly.

Joana pinched her king piece between finger and thumb, attempting to move it to the three open spaces around it. None of her pieces were in range to move in front of the queen to block her king from danger. Two of the open spaces around her king would still cause her to be in check with Will's queen, and the other one would put her into check with another of his pieces. She had lost the game. And he had responded to her earlier flirtation with no more than several blinks of surprise.

"Mate," Will confirmed, after watching her attempt to move her king in vain.

"Congratulations," she said as sweetly as possible in her disappointment over losing. "What's the record now, two and two?"

"I think so. Tiebreaker?"

"Do you have any other games we can play, just to add some variety?"

"Well, there _is_ a dice game called Liar's Dice, come to think of it… but I lost the last time."

"Well, being as I've never played it before, I'd say you have a good shot of winning."

* * *

After eating a small dinner that Beckett had brought back from the galley, the newly engaged couple sat on Elizabeth's bed watching the other carefully. Elizabeth realized where this was going, but had to know one last thing before they made love yet again that day.

"Cutler," she said with insistence. He looked at her with puzzlement.

"What about the baby?" she asked him.

"I will raise this baby as my own, if you so desire it," he replied, poking her lightly in her bulging stomach. Elizabeth was overwhelmed with joy. How could he have turned out to be so perfect, so obliging, so unlike her first impression of him?

She wanted to finally see this man in his entirety, being as he had finally revealed his feelings in their entirety. After giving him a kiss of gratitude as he lay along the length of the bed, she straddled him, unbuttoning his shirt and exposing his chest, him completely at her mercy as she remained in her nightgown atop his totally bare body.

During each unbuttoning of the clothing that restricted him, Beckett could visualize his interest increasing to a fever pitch. Her remaining clothed above him seemed to excite him even more, what with him being left so vulnerable beneath her, completely exposed and unsure of what exactly she was planning on doing to him.

Suddenly Elizabeth rose onto her knees, which were positioned astride his hips, and lowered herself quickly and smoothly onto him as she commenced with the movement that drove him out of his mind.

Beckett laid his head against the pillow, chin high in the air as he shut his eyes, concentrating on keeping the tension going for a bit longer. The flood of emotions that he had allowed to flow free was threatening to end this activity sooner than he wanted. And the feeling of being within her, the movement of her body around him, was trying on his endurance. As he tried his best to remain in control, his hand moved southward over her loosely hanging nightgown, reaching the juncture of their trembling bodies. Elizabeth attempted to decipher where exactly his hand had went when suddenly, not only was she being filled by him, but there was something else stroking her as she moved back and forth on top of him! Each time she moved forward, Beckett's finger would brush against that most sensitive point of her anatomy, causing her to squeal with pleasure as she thrust herself harder against the welcome micro-obstruction to movement.

Again, they simultaneously climaxed, Beckett feeling the weight of Elizabeth's body heavy on his own as she rested on him after an amazing finish. Within another minute or so, she repositioned herself so they were now lying side by side on the bed. Beckett smirked as he pulled the blanket up over their perspiring bodies, snuggling his unclothed body against her nightgown-clad body, feeling the baby kick rather forcefully.

_That was certainly powerful enough to be the kick of a boy_, Beckett mused, running his palm over the swell of Elizabeth's belly. The little whimper Elizabeth emitted in response caused him to forget everything instantaneously, his heart melting as he wrapped an arm around her back and nestled into the curves of her body. It wasn't long before both had fallen asleep.

* * *

Much to Will's dismay, Joana was rapidly becoming competent in Liar's Dice. They were now on their sixth game, with stakes ever-increasing from buttons, to small sums of money (though useless to him), and finally to objects such as a nonworking albeit elegant pocket watch. The only reason Will had won the last game was because Joana refrained from calling him a liar, though he had actually been lying. The stakes increased yet again.

"I wager… an entire afternoon dedicated to helping you decipher your book," he said, his eyeballs much less red than before. The only steep wager that could be made while on the _Dutchman_ was time.

"Well, I wager… an entire _day_ spent helping you do whatever it is you'd like to do."

"Really," he said, eyes scanning her for signs of joking. It was quite the wager for someone such as her, with her having not won once yet, to make.

"Yes. What _do_ you like to do, anyway?"

He considered for a moment, and then spoke.

"In life I was a blacksmith," he replied, a trace of bitterness in his words. "I crafted swords and daggers and many useful pieces of met—"

"…I'm afraid I have no materials for that here," she commented.

"With the weapons I'd create I enjoyed swordfighting—firstly, in order to test them, but then my own interest grew in using weaponry properly," he said. "I taught myself how to defend myself against all of pirate kind—interestingly enough, afterwards learning that I am one of them."

"I'd be rather terrible, but I can try."

"Alright," he said, rubbing his starfish hands together. "It's settled. An afternoon—eh, let's make it a full day—of translating your book to a full day of swordfighting. I daresay by the end of the latter day, you'll be quite competent with a sword."

With that, Joana and Will rolled their dice, hiding them beneath their respective tumblers.

Joana peeked beneath her cup, seeing two fours, a six, and two ones.

"Three fours," she said carefully, lowering the tumbler onto the dice. Her dark eyes flickered mischievously.

Will peeked under his tumbler at his own dice.

"Three fives," he replied with utmost confidence.

She didn't skip a beat. "Four fours."

"Five fives."

Joana glanced again at her dice. There was no way all his dice could be fives. But then again, she _really_ wanted to learn how to swordfight. She took a deep breath. Surely Will would call her on this one…

"Six fours," she stated very clearly, smiling broadly at him. Will looked at her with his jaw slightly agape, peeking down one more time at his own dice. _Say it_, Joana mused. _You know I'm lying._

"Liar," he muttered under his breath, almost with a sort of sigh. Joana revealed the contents of her cup to have two fours, and Will showed his own to have only one four.

"I guess you win," she said, shrugging.

"But you must've known I was lying as well," he replied quickly, staring at her dice. "You have no fives."

"Oops, I guess I have more to learn. Well, all that matters is that I lost."

"Would you like to now learn some of the basics of swor—"

"Today is already well underway. I said I'd devote an entire day to it."

Will was taken aback.

"Alright, so… would you like tomorrow to be the day that you learn how to swordfight?"

"Yes, if that is alright with you."

* * *

I apologize for the wait in posting this chapter! Well, I hope you enjoyed the Beckett-Lizzie and Will-Joana interaction, and I hope this chapter was (maybe slightly?) worth the wait!


	26. Escape

* * *

Chapter 26: Escape

* * *

The next day, Will and Joana faced each other on the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_, both holding swords with barnacle-encrusted hilts. Will saw Joana wince, as her finger moved too quickly past a rather jagged barnacle on the weapon she was gripping.

He moved quickly towards her, as she tucked the sword under an arm, putting her sliced finger into her mouth.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, concern etched on his features. She looked up at him to see that his pupils didn't seem to be quite as black.

"I'm fine. Just a little scratch," she said, after removing the finger from her mouth and brushing it off on her dress. He noticed the blood welling on the tip of her finger, and moved to touch it.

"It's nothing," Joana remarked, wiping her finger off again as she smiled at him. "So—let's get to swordfighting; shall we?"

Will blinked several times. He had never expected to meet yet _another_ unconventional female, one who ignored blood and all such things that caused many a woman to faint. Of course, Joana _was_ a medic, but it was quite invigorating to be in the company of such a resplendently dressed woman being so—well, unladylike.

* * *

"Oh, you're getting much better," Will managed to say, easily avoiding a rather pitiful thrust from Joana's sword. "Just make certain that when you thrust, that the leg you lean on is at a ninety-degree angle to your thrusting leg. It offers you much more balance that way."

Will and Joana had been practicing swordfighting all morning, Joana since becoming good enough to at least dodge Will's attack-type moves, though she hadn't yet put him at any sort of risk with her own sword.

"You're quite the good dodger, but you can also parry an attack with your own sword," he added. "Unlike pistols, swords can be used both as weapons and as shields. Try an attack—and I will show you how to parry."

Joana weakly thrust the sword, legs not quite perpendicular to each other. With lightning-fast speed, Will raised his sword horizontally to deflect her attack upwards, knocking her sword out of her hand as well as knocking her backwards, so that she landed on the deck on her bottom.

She let out a cry of surprise as she hit the deck, Will coming to her side and offering her a hand. She glanced at the starfish that was his hand and was more than mildly disconcerted. Even so, she took it anyway, finding it had more strength in it than she had originally suspected.

"Ouch," she said, rubbing her backside with her free hand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, releasing his handhold once he saw that she was stable.

"It's not your fault. I'm not very good at that," she said. "Odd, right?"

"Why do you say that?"

"My father is a famous pirate, certainly having killed many expert swordfighters in his lifetime, and, well, I—"

"You needn't worry; I consider myself competent enough to teach you, being as you're set to become the most fearsome pirate on the seven seas—I wager you'll even dwarf the infamy of your father."

She let out a sort of scoff, and rolled her eyes.

"What is it?" Will questioned. Her response was unexpected. "Do you not intend to follow in the footsteps of your father?"

"Although it's been interesting," she began slowly, "I'm not cut out for that sort of thing."

_Very interesting_, Will mused. _Would've thought a tomboy such as her was born for that sort of life. Could she be the stark opposite of Elizabeth in this way? And I had supposed her to be some sort of skinnier, more embittered version of Elizabeth. Yet, she has more of a caretaking instinct and less of a fighting instinct. And surprisingly, no intention to carry on her father's legacy…. _

"Then what _do_ you want out of life? Do you want to live in England, wearing petticoats and corsets and strutting about town shopping for furniture?"

"No," she replied quickly and resolutely, thrusting her sword out, which was barely parried by Will. "I just want… to live a quiet life… a life free from the hustle-bustle of—"

"Ha, you wouldn't say that after a month working on the _Dutchman_ ferrying souls to the other world, with naught but traveling souls and craggy crewmen for company."

"Well, I don't know, really. You are doing the souls a great service in transporting them—"

"It's utter hell," he said. "I'm stuck in that silent, gloomy prison for ten years without the companionship of my wife, sailing day in and day out with the same headings, the only recompense being the anticipation of the day I shall meet her again on land—only to find out that she's been unfaithful with a—"

Joana released her hold on her sword, her hands shooting up to cover her mouth as she moved towards Will. Upon this action from Joana, he looked down. Joana's sword was buried in his stomach.

"Oh, Will; are you alright?" she cried, placing her hands on his arm as she bent down to examine the wound. Truth to tell, she just wanted to shut him up once and for all; hearing about Elizabeth's positive attributes day in and day out was greatly wearing on her sanity, so much that she hadn't realized she had stabbed him.

"Hmm," he said, looking down. "I guess I lost concentration there for a moment."

Without another word, Will pulled the blade out of his body, handing it back to a shocked Joana with a grim smile.

"I'm so sorry," she began. "I hadn't even realized what I did because I didn't even see you react—How did you—?"

"No need to apologize. I should have been paying more attention. As for my lack of reaction, it's because I'm immortal—every part of me, save for my heart. My heart is the only part of me that can be harmed—and harmed it certainly has been as of late," he grumbled, glancing down at the ground.

"Well, that makes swordfighting rather easy for you, being immortal and all," she commented. "No matter what happens, you'll come out on top in the end," she added bitterly. "Are your other crew immortal as well?"

"They live for as long as the captain of the _Dutchman_ allows them. My father has been on the _Dutchman_ for fourteen years, and has another eighty-six as per his agreement with Davy Jones."

"I don't see what's so bad about that. Why didn't Elizabeth agree to also serve with you, then you and she could be on the ship together for eternity?"

Will lowered his sword for a moment, looking thoughtful. He then sighed.

"The heart needs a living soul to keep it safe."

"Oh."

"I'd never thought of that possibility—both she and I on the _Dutchman_ together… forever," he said with a far-off look. Joana rolled her eyes at the impossible romanticism this man seemed to incorporate into every thought of his cheating wife.

"Well, once you've convinced her to leave Beckett, you could always offer that as a possibility," Joana said, shrugging. "Of course, with the child and all, she probably wouldn't want to leave it—"

"That's out of the question," Will replied adamantly. "I'd never expect her to leave her child—our child…."

_Elizabeth would never do such a thing,_ he mused._ She can't even stay faithful to me for less than a year after our parting… let alone give up the rest of her life and devote herself to me. And the child adds yet another dimension of complexity…._

"However—" Joana said, "if she _did_ agree to an existence aboard the _Dutchman_ within the next couple of months, perhaps you _could_ all be together…"

"No!" he snapped irritably, a barnacle pulsating rapidly. "I'll not hear about my wife's—or my child's—death. Have you no propriety whatsoever?"

Startlingly, Joana smirked at him, a familiar gleam in her eye.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow's daughter; is that not a good enough reason?"

* * *

"So, would you like to be married aboard the ship?" Beckett asked Elizabeth earnestly, face dead serious. It had been three days since their engagement, yet it seemed to Elizabeth that Beckett was already getting antsy. They lay under the covers of her bed, their bare bodies side by side in the warmth they had created. A thunderstorm was roaring outside the ship, with them safe inside her cabin. The temperature had been steadily dropping all day, with icy cold rains pouring down on the ship like tiny icicles.

Elizabeth thought about his proposal. This was the _Black Pearl_, the very ship on which she had Will had been married. She could not do such a thing. Though Will had hurt her deeply upon essentially ending their marriage, she couldn't defile his memory in such a way.

"No," she murmured quietly. "I'd rather wait until we make berth."

"Is there a particular reason for that," he drawled, looking slightly irritated.

"This is the ship on which Will and I were married," she replied truthfully. "It would be too—strange." She recalled the similarly stormy weather during her marriage to Will, and felt a pang of sadness. "Please underst—"

"I understand," Beckett replied quietly. _Damn that Turner. Even though he's long gone, he still has to influence my plans…_

* * *

Joana found herself becoming more than a bit irritated with William Turner. It was not because he was rude or self-absorbed or uncaring; it was quite the contrary. She was fed up with his never-ending stream of devotion for Elizabeth.

"She and I, we used to practice swordfighting in the blacksmith's shop," he'd say, a sad smile on his face, his eyes distant. "Quite difficult for me to concentrate when she'd be unlacing her petticoats to enjoy the revelry. She could be as dirty and unkempt as she pleased, but she'd still be beautiful to m—"

"Can we talk about something else," Joana would then interrupt. There'd follow a cycle of, "But I can't think of anything else but her," and she'd beg, "Please, talk about anything other than that," and then of course he'd say, "I can't help but be reminded of her every time I ____," and so on.

Of course, Joana's irritation with Will would soon dissipate, when he would ask her about herself. He'd sit down by her side, focusing completely on her. She'd feel a thrill when all his attention was bestowed upon her.

"Tell me of your past," he asked her at one point, in between deciphering her ruined medical guide. "What was it like growing up in the Azores?"

"Well, at first it was wonderful, my mother and I…" Her eyes grew distant, cold. "Then the Royal Navy came when I was ten, and everything changed."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to—"

"No, it's quite alright. So, as I was saying, the Royal Navy arrived, many casualties all around. It was Beckett who fell for my mother in those times; she was a doctor's assistant who was helping with the injured men. She refused him over and over. Then, the night the Royal Navy finally left the island, she was kidnapped. Recently, I learned that she died aboard Beckett's ship."

Will's dark brown eyes, having returned back to normal, held a sadness to them, an understanding. His antennae moustache quivered very subtly as she sighed.

"I was raised by my grandparents, and taught a trade as a doctor's assistant. My grandparents have since died, and so I was living alone when my father and his crew came into town. I hated my life as it was, so I went with them."

"What do you want most?" Will suddenly asked, eyes seeming to light up.

"Why do you ask?" she replied, caught off-guard by the unexpectedness of the question.

"Just curious. You don't have to answer."

"What about you? What do _you_ want most?" she asked him.

"I believe I asked you first," he replied with the subtlest of grins.

"Alright, fine then. Let me see…." Her eyes went distant as she considered. _What _do_ I want most?_

"Well, being as though it's impossible to raise the dead, it may be more possible, though still impossible, to perhaps see my mother one last time, to tell her that I love her and miss her. The last moments I spent with her were horrible, her screaming for me to stay in my room as she was taken away by the kidnapper."

"I'm very sorry that you had to endure such a thing," Will replied carefully. "Surely she's in the next world now, safe from the cruelty and injustice of this world—though I'm sure she misses you terribly as well."

"What about your family?" Joana said, wishing to change the subject. It was unnerving having Will's full attention being bestowed on her. "I see that your father is aboard this ship—so he was recruited by the previous captain of the _Dutchman_?"

"Yes. When I was a boy living in England, my father would leave my mother and me often, though I never understood why. I later heard word that he had passed away, and went on with my life. When my mother and I were embarking for the New World to begin a new life shortly after hearing of my father's death, the _Black Pearl_ sunk our ship, and a ship of the Line rescued me—a ship containing Elizabeth. I was the only survivor on my ship. She told me that she was charged with taking care of me that day, and did quite a good job, though she was not but nine years of age…"

Now that he was reminded of Elizabeth—his attention faded away again. Those bright shining moments Joana was beginning to rather enjoy—those moments in which she'd have a person's undivided attention—had left her for the time being. She would have to approach him later with a subject far off from what could be inadvertently linked to Elizabeth Turner.

* * *

"I'm gettin' a bit tired of this," Jack muttered grumpily, watching Gibbs nod in assent, as the _Intrepid_ journeyed ever closer to its destination, though almost a days' journey behind the considerably faster _Black Pearl_. "I wager that we are quite close to land. If we could escape now, we may actually make it to shore."

"An' how d'ye propose we do somethin' like that?" Barbossa said, sneering.

"Like I said before, mate… Leverage. Not that you'd understand such a concept."

Barbossa shot him the evil eye.

"I do believe we be nearin' our destination, Cap'n," Gibbs spoke up, looking about the brig. The Turkish prostitute would still not look at him and seemed to be wasting away as she sat pouting in the corner of the cell.

"How certain do you feel of that assertion?" Jack asked him quietly.

Hands now shackled in front of him, Jack Sparrow heaved the board against the grating of the cell, observed carefully by Barbossa and Gibbs.

"Based on what the boy told us, I'm fairly sure—'less he was lyin' to us."

"I doubt he'd lie about that sort of thing. Southampton does make sense as a destination for a group who mos' certainly will be executed by th' very head of the Royal Navy hisself."

Meanwhile, Gibbs tried once again what Jack had been easily able to do: hunch over enough to be able to slip the shackles underneath his bottom, where he could then slip them under his legs. Gibbs, however, was too portly for this kind of flexibility, and Barbossa was too gangly as well as being a good deal older than Sparrow. They could only sit there in silence as they watched the dreadlocked pirate hop closer to his task, jamming the edge of the board against the bottom of the grating.

The Turkish prostitute had somehow gotten even further than Jack with escaping from her bonds. Her skinny wrists and ankles had afforded her room to slither out of both sets of shackles, yet she stayed seated in the corner, keeping her knack for escape hidden from the other prisoners.

Upon Sparrow's uncanny ability to reposition his shackles more conveniently, the dreadlocked pirate had immediately hopped over to the hull, where he had formerly noticed a board that squeaked when leaned against. He slipped a link of his shackles beneath the squeaky, loose corner of the board, pulling with all his might—as well as with both feet planted almost vertically along the curve of the hull—until a mighty crack was heard.

* * *

"Not one o' yer best ideas, Jack," Gibbs muttered, pulling himself heavily to his feet as the brig filled with a deluge of water. Meanwhile, Jack held a board several inches across and half his height in length, surveying the damage to the hull.

All in the brig flinched upon hearing a deafening clap of thunder from outside the ship, fortunately having also masked the sound of the board snapping from the hull earlier. Thunder roared every few seconds, making it more difficult to communicate in the loudness of spurting water and raging thunderstorm.

"Now what d'ye propose we do, ye halfwit?" Barbossa raged.

"I'd keep it down if I was you," Jack said with a flash of gold teeth, "lest we find ourselves bein' put to death before reachin' our destination."

"Aye, before drownin' firs'?" Barbossa shot. "Ah, fer a second there I thought we be in real trouble," he added sarcastically.

Staying silent, Jack positioned his shackles around the board directly above the one that was now missing. Struggling to get a foothold against the flood of water now spurting into the brig, Jack yanked the board with all his might. The Turkish prostitute had since stood up and was breathing very heavily. Jack glanced over at her to see that she was totally liberated from her shackles. _Quite a survivor_, he mused, noticing her caked makeup was nearly worn off by the incoming spray of the ocean. _An' much less of a wench now…._

"What be this about leverage?" Barbossa commented, having also stood up to avoid the entering water.

"I've abandoned that plan in light of a plan that's much more better," Jack said with a grunt, cracking yet another board from the hull. A flood of water knocked him backwards, but he recovered his balance.

"That bein'…"

"We swim right out o' the side of the ship, watchin' as the ship sinks in all its glory an' so on an' so forth... savvy?"

Gibbs immediately looked crestfallen. The water was now up over their feet.

"An' how d'ye propose myself an' Barbossa do such a thing?"

"Wiv your hands—oh," Jack said, upon seeing their intact shackles. "Forgot about that."

"How could ye forget?!" Barbossa shrieked. "Yer goin' to be the death of us all."

Jack flashed Barbossa a dashing smile.

"Actually, that'd be only you, mate. It seems our 'Turkish Torrent' has managed a way to escape her bonds—" he added, looking over at the prostitute, whose face was contorted in preparation to wail. Realizing the impending problem, he scurried over to her as best he could in his leg shackles.

"Now, ye've got to be quiet, if you want to escape, an' therefore, live," he whispered to her, attempting to place his hands over her mouth. She pushed his hands away, landing quite a heavy slap across his face.

"Ye scabrous wench; I in fact did _not_ deserve that, bein' as it was the only way to save the whole lot o' us, including yourself," he remarked in a gravelly voice, rubbing the tender cheek.

The woman ignored him, then looking down at the water, prepared again to wail. Jack fought the desire to cover her mouth again, lest he receive another slap. Rather he put a finger to his own lips.

"D'ye savvy, ye wench? Quiet! Escape! Live! As in, not die an immediate an' painful death!"

She flashed him a look of hatred, opening her mouth again. As soon as a sound squeaked out, Jack lunged at her, knocking her roughly against the hull of the ship. He immediately covered her mouth with a hand, glancing briefly back at the water filling the brig, now entering the ship from a hole about one foot by three feet. He had successfully pinned her arms at her sides, so that she was not able to slap him again.

Eyes slightly widening, Jack leaned close to the woman's face. An element of fright had replaced much of the rage on her face.

"Listen, Madam, or wotever ye'd want to be called in your native tongue," he began. "I have found a way to escape. Howe'er, I will not help you… unless you help me. Firstly, d'ye have a name?"

She stared at him with an aghast expression, eyes wide in confusion.

He removed one hand from her, and pounded on his chest.

"Jack," he stated resolutely. He then pointed at her, poking her in the region below her sternum, and then shrugging.

"Ayla," she murmured quietly.

"Ayla, is it? That's quite a pronounceable name, quite fortunate indeed for myself." He poked her in the chest again. "Ayla."

She nodded, mouth drawn into a tight grimace. Seeing that the water was ever-rising, Jack leaned in closely to her ear, whispering his demand.

"I want you to free Mr. Gibbs, Ayla… savvy?" he whispered huskily. Remaining by her ear, he reached down and grabbed both of her hands, eliciting a little yelp from her. "Do this for me friend Mr. Gibbs." His hands moved from her hands to her shoulders, as he moved his face away from her own. He pointed at Gibbs, who was looking worse-for-wear as the water surged over his boots.

"See wot I'm sayin', luv?" he asked her. Quickly he moved his hands towards her own again, but she pulled them away. Jack sighed and ducked down, picking up a shackle that was about to be completely underwater. He lifted the shackles, watching her cringe in response.

"Ayla, take these off of Gibbs," Jack said, waving the shackles in her face. He pointed back at Gibbs, then at the shackles, and then shook his head, hoping she'd get the gist. Otherwise, Gibbs' fate was going to be quite unfortunate indeed.

* * *

Will's eyes widened as he gaped at Joana, sitting cross-legged in front of him, her mouth drawn into a wry smile.

"W-what did you say?" he asked, holding the tumbler of dice in a slightly less-starfishy hand.

"I said, I wager however long you see fit to serve you and your crew aboard the _Dutchman_."

"You _do_ know what you're wagering, do you not?" Will sputtered.

"Did I not just repeat myself exactly?" she replied coolly, watching Captain Turner intently. Over these past few days, the enjoyment she had had with Will one-on-one was a rare delight she had never before experienced with someone. It was rather a shame that Will was committed to another, but perhaps once he saw for himself his wife's treachery, he'd leave her for good. And Joana was more than willing to help pick up the pieces of his heart. _If Elizabeth can't see what she's losing in Will, that's too bad for her. On the other hand, I'm forced to know and not be able to win his affections._ She reached back, pulling her hair out of the messy bun she always kept it in.

Will eyed Joana carefully, her dark eyes reminiscent of Elizabeth's eyes, but suggestive of Jack Sparrow's mischievous glance. She certainly had Jack's prominent cheekbones, yet her hair was another story—it was curly, full and auburn, cascading down her shockingly bony shoulders. The dress she wore was filthy and tattered, though it still fit her snugly, hugging whatever nuance of curves she had. She wasn't as pretty as Elizabeth, but she wasn't a hopeless case. However, Joana was quite the tomboy, even more so than Elizabeth, her exotic Portuguese accent much less refined-sounding than Elizabeth's proper British pronunciation. How could she wager such a stretch of time to spend on a craggy ship without proper source of nutrition, transporting souls to the next world?

"Ha," Will said flatly. "Though your wager appears at first glance to be selfless, I now realize that you can only wager as much time as the _Dutchman_ is in this world—which looks to be the exact amount of time you'll be spending on this ship traveling to Southampton." He finished off his statement with a polite smile.

"No," she replied resolutely, holding her chin up, her eyes flashing dangerously. She realized she wasn't playing very hard to get, but she'd actually try to win this game of dice—this time.

"I don't understand," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What's _your_ wager," she asked him.

"I'm afraid I have nothing to offer you that equals or exceeds your offer," he muttered.

_Of course you don't. If I was Elizabeth, it'd be a whole other story. Her disregard for your feelings is only increasing your feelings of love for her, whereas I'm stuck to watch you remain stubbornly devoted to a woman who could care less about how you feel. _

"Make up something then," Joana replied.

"Maybe we should stop playing this game. The stakes have gotten too high for me to uphold my end. I'm not being fair to you."

Will stood up and walked away, unaware of Joana's subsequent frown of disgust.

_No_, she mused._ You're not being fair at all._

* * *

Jack pulled yet another board free as the water continued to pour into the brig. The prostitute had successfully freed one of Gibbs' hands from the shackles using some form of ribbon to slither it off of his wrist. Meanwhile, Barbossa stood as far away from the entering water, watching Jack menacingly with narrowed eyes.

The last board was very difficult to remove. Jack heaved his legs against the slippery hull, straining and grinding his teeth as he applied all his weight to remove the soaking wet board. He was very glad for Joana's keen ability to suture his leg up so that it was not painful to perform such an action. Certainly he had burst the sutures back open with these actions, but importantly, his leg was not currently in mind-numbing pain. This time Jack yanked on the board, however, in addition to a fragment of the board, a link in Jack's shackles snapped in half, freeing him from the wrist shackles.

The subsequent smile on the dreadlocked pirate's face was soon swept away by another loud clap of thunder, along with the sound of yelling crew—coming from the direction of the hold.

"Bugger… they know," Jack murmured to himself. Suddenly he clapped his freed hands together, sloshing awkwardly through the ever-rising water. "Mr. Gibbs, Ayla—we must depart. Barbossa," he said, turning to his former First Mate, "treason an' mutiny aside—'twas nice knowin' you."

With that, Jack yanked the Turkish woman and Gibbs towards the small breach that he had created.

"Lady luck be wiv you," he mumbled to his two companions, taking a sharp intake of breath and forcing his body through the inward current.

* * *

"What do you make of the storm?" Elizabeth asked Beckett, watching his concerned expression as she flinched at the next loud crack of thunder. They journeyed closer and closer to their destination, further and further from the equatorial climate of the Caribbean and the Azores.

"It will probably divert us from our heading, but only slightly…. That is, unless the winds continue to pick up."

The couple could feel the ship groaning, certainly due to the waves beating against the side as well as from the whipping of the sails back and forth in the violent gales.

Suddenly Beckett felt Elizabeth shiver in his arms.

"What was that for? Are you cold," he inquired, her shivering continuing unabashedly.

"Actually, yes. I am. It's freezing in here."

"Well, then let me fetch your—"

"My nightgown won't help. Hmm…. There has to be something warmer."

Beckett sighed, a bit disappointed that she'd be returning to a clothed state.

"I know—how about your coat?" she exclaimed.

"Alright."

Both sat for a minute or so, Elizabeth regarding Beckett with a raised eyebrow.

"Would you like me to fetch it for you," he asked her in a monotone, half dreading the thought of getting out of the toasty bed.

"Yes, I would like that very much," Elizabeth replied with a smile.

With a great sigh, Beckett dangled a leg over the side of the bed, feeling the subsequent chill of the cabin air, having been previously enclosed in warmth beneath the covers that he and Elizabeth had created from their own body heat. He looked back at Elizabeth, grabbing the covers with a hand in order to cover himself up on his short trek to the coat.

"No you don't," she replied, pulling them back towards her. "Then _I'll_ be exposed to the elements. Now, is that any way to treat a lady?"

Beckett turned away from her, standing up in all his naked glory as he strode quickly towards his coat, the chill of the floorboards beneath his feet almost unbearable. Elizabeth watched him with a smirk as he moved smoothly across the small room, completely exposed and therefore quite lovely to watch.

Soon Beckett had fetched the coat and sat back down on the bed, pushing the garment towards her. He pulled an edge of the blanket over his nether regions for modesty's sake—and because it made him feel too vulnerable to be in such an unclothed state for more than a matter of moments. Elizabeth subsequently sat up, very briefly exposed before she encircled her body with the coat, wrapping it closely around her.

"I happen to find that the coat better serves its purpose when worn properly," Beckett said with a wince, at watching her handle the expensive clothing in such a manner.

"Fine then, your Highness," she said with a mock scoff. Within moments, she had slipped her arms through the sleeves and was currently buttoning the coat up.

"No need to button it," Beckett commented, reaching for her hand that was currently clutching a button, the other bringing the buttonhole closer.

"Why, do you imagine my accidentally pulling a button off?" she replied with a teasing tone.

"Exactly."

"Recall that I grew up with similar high standards as yourself. Do you take me for some sort of ignorant commoner—"

"This is the only coat I have aboard this ship. I wish to be in top form for when we make berth—and marry—"

"Do you think I would really care if a button was missing from your coat?" Elizabeth said with a smirk.

"No, but _I_ would."

"Alright," she said with a defiant hiss. "Fine then." With that, she began unbuttoning what she already fastened, afterwards burying her hands within the inside of the coat, palms flat against her sides. Beckett watched as her hands shifted beneath the fabric, running along the inside of the coat. Suddenly he remembered—

"That's quite enough," he said with a humorless chuckle. "I've changed my mind. You can button the coat."

"What? What brought about such a change in your countenance?" she questioned.

"Nothing, it's just that the coat is meant to be worn buttoned, and I did say that the coat best serves its purpose when worn properly—"

Instead of immediately buttoning the coat back up, Elizabeth's hands continued to wander beneath the fabric. Beckett held his breath.

Suddenly her hand stopped around the region of the hidden breast pocket. She squeezed her fingers together in that region as she opened the coat, a spray of powder shooting up from the pocket. As Beckett proceeded to almost swallow his tongue, Elizabeth sneezed.

"Gesundheit," Beckett said as calmly as possible, though his heart was racing in his chest. Elizabeth had found the Spanish fly.

* * *

Jack Sparrow surfaced outside of the _Intrepid_, sputtering as waves sloshed against his face as he struggled to keep afloat without full use of his legs. Thunder rumbled above him in the black starless skies, the air thick with humidity and gales of rain. Soon he saw the wench surface several feet away, her hair matted to her head as she gasped for air.

"There you are," he muttered to himself, swimming towards her as the waves peaked all around him. "Now where the bloody hell is Gibbs?"

Soon Jack was treading water beside the Turkish prostitute. A thick fog hung over the surface of the surrounding waters, making it near impossible to see more than forty feet in any direction. Gibbs had not yet surfaced.

"Where's Gibbs?" Jack whispered to the woman he now knew as Ayla. She glanced at him irritably.

"Gibbs," Jack repeated, to no avail. "You know." There was no response.

"Bugger. Well, I do know him to be—have been—quite the swimmer. I trust he can take care o' himself."

The _Intrepid_ continued past Jack and Ayla, causing quite a concern to arise within the rogue pirate. Within seconds, the unlikely duo had begun swimming in the direction of the _Intrepid_, following behind it in desperation, for if it went beyond the fog, they'd never find it again.

Thanks for your continued interest!


	27. Making Birth

"What's this?" Elizabeth managed to say, pulling the sack containing Spanish fly out of Beckett's inner coat pocket. The whitish powder coated her fingertips.

"What. That?" he said, adding a lazy pause in order to feign disinterest. She just stared at him, remaining silent. He had done this sort of thing before –pretending not to care.

After a time, he realized he had to fill in the silence. "That," he said, putting out an impatient hand, "is my medicine."

"What's it for?" she queried, looking as if ready to sneeze again. He took this moment to snatch the sack from her hand.

"It's from an affliction I suffered from in my earlier days that I no longer am burdened with."

"Why do you still carry it then?" she said, annoyance on her brow from his taking it away from her so quickly.

"This is an old coat," was the terse reply.

"How do you know that you no longer suffer from this so-called affliction just by looking at this unlabeled sack in this 'old coat,' as you say?"

"Do you not think I know what medicine I used to take, and what coats of mine are old?"

"I'm not saying that," she said with a tint of annoyance on her breath, "I'm saying it's still so powdery, not clumpy as most powders become after a time! How do you suppose it's remained so dry after all these years?"

All of a sudden, Beckett reached down by the bedside to fetch a white undershirt. Wordlessly he slipped it on, buttoning it while holding the sack in his hand. _Why didn't I just tell her a sort of half-truth, that it was an abortificant, and nothing more? She would have given it back to me immediately._ _Of course, had I done so, there's always the chance that she'd inquire as to what it was called, or go ask the ship's medic…. Then, of course, she'd blame me for poisoning her with it at other times. Well, all I know is that I must rid myself of this drug, lest she find it again and bring it to a knowledgeable source…. _

As soon as the last button was fastened, he bent back down to fetch his breeches and underpants, legs covered with the bedsheets for the time being.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked him, still wearing his old coat.

"What does it look like I'm doing," he replied flatly.

"No need to be rude," she said with a scoff, crossing her arms.

"I'm not being rude. If you must know, I have to use the heads."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright. You just didn't say anything. I thought something was wrong."

"No."

After he finished putting on his clothing, he slipped his boots on, looking back at Elizabeth one last time before unlocking the door. It was quite endearing to see her wearing his old coat, his ring on her finger. Quite endearing, indeed. He smiled a satisfied little smile but dismissed the thought and left the room without a word, the sack of Spanish fly hidden in the palm of his hand.

_What's brought the sudden change over him_, Elizabeth mused, burying her fingers in the warm inner pockets of Beckett's coat. _God, he's the moodiest man I've ever met._

_His old coat_, she thought, smelling deeply the clean scent of Beckett in the coat, mixed with a sort of humid, dank odor that had penetrated the coat's fibers over the years. _Odd that the powder should remain so dry in such a mouldy-smelling coat, _she mused. _Why would he lie about something like that? Hmm, I wonder if he's got anything else in the pockets…_

* * *

Jack Sparrow and his female companion, now known to him as Ayla, clung to a smattering of boards on the open ocean. Being in the dead center of the English Channel didn't offer either much hope of ever seeing, let alone, reaching the shore.

"Got any ideas?" Jack asked the Turkish prostitute, who only glared back at him, makeup smeared grotesquely on her face. Rain continued to pour on their heads, the occasional strike of lightning off in the distant water illuminating their faces.

"Never mind," he said, feeling a bit foolish for leaving the _Intrepid_ at such a time. No sign of the ship was in sight.

A group of seagulls called overhead, startling him from his thoughts. He looked up at them as some of the gulls landed on random boards, others skimming the surface as they sat upon the water.

_I think the whelp Turner has actually taught me something, insignificant as it may be_, Jack mused, watching the birds intently.

* * *

"Where is Captain Sparrow? And the girl?" the captain of the _Intrepid_ demanded of the soaked pirate prisoners in the flooded brig of his ship. Gibbs, clinging to some grating on the ceiling, his feet dangling freely in the ever-rising torrent of water, could only shake his head. Barbossa, rather fortunate to be a tall man, held onto the grating in front of him in the cell, feet occasionally swept off the ground as his head and shoulders remained above the surface of the water.

"You, Captain Barbossa," the captain said. "Where did they go?"

"Can ye not make yer own deductions by the sudden presence o' water inside the ship?" Barbossa spat, shivering in between breaths.

"So they somehow got through the hull," the _Intrepid_'s captain said, speaking mostly to himself, thoughtfully placing a finger and thumb on chin. "I can't believe they could've broken through the hull themselves. Had to be Sparrow instigating it."

Gibbs found it in him to speak between swallowing gulps of splashing seawater.

"Well, Cap'n, in capturing 'im, ye forgot one important thing."

"And what's that?"

Barbossa rolled his eyes, knowing what was coming. Gibbs, on the other hand, beamed with pride.

"He's Cap'n Jack Sparrow."

* * *

Elizabeth tucked the paper back into Beckett's inner coat pocket, her face beet red and positively murderous. _And to think, I almost felt guilty for being so nosy_, she thought. _Now I know his true intentions. How could I have betrayed Will with such a lying, manipulating bastard? Has Beckett no heart whatsoever, to use a sick pregnant woman for personal gain? How could I have gone so horribly wrong? I wonder how long he's been planning this…._

Anger fading quickly, she soon felt tears welling up in her eyes. Beckett's coat felt itchy and heavy on her, a burden on her body as well as her conscience, and she yanked the buttons apart without bothering to unfasten them, throwing the coat upon the floor and spitting on it. Realizing her state of undress, she pulled the blankets around her body and wrapped them about herself. She was about to get out of bed to lock the door from Beckett's re-entry when she felt an odd pain in her lower back.

Shortly thereafter, a searing pain like a strong menstrual cramp caused her to double over in the bed and moan.

_What's going on? Am I losing the baby from all this hatred within me? Calm down, Elizabeth. So much emotion cannot be good for the baby. _

She reached for her nightgown, in a rumbled mess on the floor, but another pain like a sharp menstrual cramp caused her to freeze in place. Something bad was happening.

"What is going on?" she said aloud, voice choked with panic. She looked down at her stomach. "Please, don't fret…. Whatever you're doing to cause these pains, please stop…"

A pain greater than all the rest before hit her like a thud in the stomach. Clear fluid spilled out of her, soaking the mattress.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed. "The baby—"

Wincing, Elizabeth threw some sheets on the mess, and then pulled her nightgown over her head. By this point she had a strange urge to lie back, to keep her knees bent. The baby's birth was imminent. She positioned the nightgown correctly on her, so that her arms were through the sleeves.

_Why does this have to happen to me now, when that bloody bastard is all set to return to continue his manipulation of my condition? _she mused, the pain coming in waves. Every couple of seconds another cramp would hit her, causing her to bite down on her lower lip to keep from yelling out.

Lying in the bed with her nudity exposed to the doorway, she soon realized the reality of the situation. _There is no way in hell he is going to see that part of me—ever again, _her mind yelled. She lowered her knees onto the bed so that she was now lying flat. A searing pain went through her pelvic area, and she screamed, putting her knees back up. She squirmed around on her back so that her body was perpendicular to the doorway. _Well, that affords me a bit more privacy, being as I can't do much else, what with this utterly horrific pain._ _Why did no one warn me of the pain? This is fifty times worse than what anything I've been going through these past several months. _Another cramp seared through her abdomen. _Make that pain worse than anything— ever._

* * *

Beckett heard the high-pitched scream as he was walking back to Elizabeth's cabin. He had been happy to toss the sack of Spanish fly overboard, hoping that in his lengthier absence than usual Elizabeth would have forgotten all about the powdery medicine.

_Why in God's name is she screaming so_, he mused, face wrinkled up in confusion as he picked up his pace.

Upon opening the door to the cabin, Beckett would never have guessed he'd have seen the image before him. Elizabeth lie on her back, knees in the air, body facing the wrong direction on the bed. Her face was sweaty and bright red and she flashed him a look of panic, intermingled with something else, something quite unpleasant indeed. Though the sight unnerved him, he remained totally calm, standing with the utmost propriety in the doorway. He cleared his throat, keeping his voice calm.

"Would you like me to fetch—"

"Go get the bloody medic, fast!" she managed to utter in between two searing cramps very close together. In her agony she hadn't found the words to tell him what she now thought of him.

Beckett's eyes went wide as he did an about-face, immediately closing the door behind him without another word.

_What's going on?_ he asked himself. _Could she be losing the baby? It couldn't be—just from a bloody sniff of the Spanish fly?! Couldn't be…_

* * *

Immediately upon finding Dr. Stillwell on deck, Beckett beckoned him away from the group he had been speaking to. He directed him away from the group, speaking to him quietly.

"Something's happening to Elizabeth. She's lying on the bed—and she screamed," Beckett muttered, a bit winded from the brisk trip he had taken trying to find the medic.

"Elizabeth?" Dr. Stillwell repeated, eyeing Beckett with confusion—and suspicion.

_Oh, bollocks. I've gone and done it now. _

"I mean, Jane. Jane Collins. My fiancée. Could you ensure that everything's alright with her?"

The doctor still looked suspicious, remaining silent.

"Mr. Beckett, you've done quite a—" he began to say in a chiding tone, much like a parent to a child.

"Please," Beckett interrupted, greatly disturbed by the doctor's new attitude. "Could you just please go tend to her? I don't know how to help her."

"I'm not so sure I want to involve myself in—"

"Dr. Stillwell!" Beckett exclaimed, losing his patience. "You can assume what you wish about me, but she is an innocent in all of this—she and her child both are."

"I'll help her, under one circumstance," the doctor replied, voice weary. He fell silent, looking expectantly at Beckett. Beckett thought he heard a faint scream in the distance, and swallowed hard.

"And what's that," he said, wringing his hands nervously. Elizabeth was waiting for a doctor—what if something had already happened to her?

"By answering a yes or no question, truthfully."

"Alright."

"She's the Elizabeth that the captain of the _Dutchman_ was seeking out, am I right?"

Beckett swallowed, feeling his heart racing. All of his plans for the future he could hear falling all around him. This was it.

* * *

Jack had formulated a crude pile of wood with boards parallel and with no gaps in between. Ayla, the Turkish prostitute, could only curse under her breath as to what he was doing. She couldn't very well ask him, being as she knew no English. Seagulls landed all over the boards, leaving their droppings all over the place, including the tops of Jack and Ayla's heads occasionally. The rain had almost completely subsided by this point, and it seemed more and more seagulls would swoop down and land for a rest on their trek across the English channel.

Suddenly Jack pulled out his pistol, a triumphant look on his face. Ayla was immediately confused. She used her free hand to scoop some ocean water and then pour it out, indicating that the gunpowder was wet. Jack immediately picked up on what she was trying to say.

"Aye, luv, but you forget—a pistol can be used in other ways," he said. "Now… watch this."

He reached beneath the water to pull off the white and red sash he kept tied at his waist. As Ayla watched on with a puzzled expression on her face, he tied the trigger guard to the sash, holding the other end in his left hand.

All of a sudden Jack threw his pistol sideways at a seagull, the sash tangling itself around its body. It crumpled onto the boards, squawking as it attempted to get away.

One thrust of Jack's formerly hidden dagger and the seagull lie motionless on the boards. Other seagulls approached the dead gull, picking at its feathers.

Ayla made a fast of distaste at the dead bird, wondering what in the world he was going to do with it.

* * *

"I'll take your hesitation for a yes," Dr. Stillwell said, his voice cutting into Beckett's frozen state of being. Beckett, his eyes focused elsewhere, opened his mouth to say something, but no words materialized. He could not think of a single explanation for why he would call "Jane" by the name of "Elizabeth."

Dr. Stillwell then stood directly in front of Beckett, putting a hand on either of Beckett's shoulders.

"Look at me, Mr. Beckett," he said softly, almost amiably. Hesitantly, Beckett let his eyes rest upon Dr. Stillwell's for an instant, immediately looking down and away with what seemed to be a sort of shame.

"Now, I don't know why, in your luckiness to even be alive after that whole disaster on the _Endeavour_, you would take chances once again by lying to the master of the seas, Davy Jones himself."

Beckett almost cracked a smile at the thought of naïve, gullible Turner, though grotesque his appearance, controlling the sea. It _was_ quite a silly thought….

"I must inform you that Davy Jones is no longer the captain of the _Dutchman_; it's a blacksmith by the name of William Turner—" he managed to utter, trying hard to keep from smirking.

"Listen to me, boy," the doctor murmured, his voice soft but stern. Beckett blinked with indignation, agitated that anyone would speak to him in such a way, even this doctor who was most likely about twenty five years his senior. Dr. Stillwell continued to speak. "Now, I don't know what your plans are with this 'Elizabeth' but if the _Dutchman_ should return, I am informing Captain _Turner_ of her presence immediately. You know firsthand the destruction wrought by the _Dutchman_, and yet you still take this stupid chance. I will not take part in this foolish game you're playing—and I'm not putting the others aboard at risk. They will stay uninformed of her actual name for the time being, but if the _Dutchman_ should arrive, I will not withhold this information. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Dr. Stillwell," Beckett said, an air of impatience in his voice. "Now, can you please attend to her before she dies and all of this won't matter anyway?"

* * *

Beckett and Dr. Stillwell reached the room within a matter of a minute or so, scrambling down the ladder to reach the room where a pained groan would sound every few seconds. The older man opened the door, finding Elizabeth panting, face bright red with exertion, tears running down her face. Beckett paled at the sight. Was she going to lose the child? Would she be alright?

Elizabeth turned her head at the intrusion, and immediately set a frown of total hatred on Beckett. Dr. Stillwell was too busy rushing to the bedside to notice.

"Get out of here, you manipulative bastard," she spat, utter hatred in her eyes. Beckett was shocked, and the expression on his face showed it. Staring at her with confusion, he pulled the door shut behind him.

"I said, get out!" she yelled. A tear slid down her cheek as she glared daggers at him.

"Listen, Elizabeth," the doctor said, squatting down in front of her legs. "Your baby is ready to be delivered, but you have to be patient. Your cervix has not dilated enough, and so you must wait for my instruction before you push again."

Startled by the mention of her name, she turned away from Beckett for the time being, instead gaping at the doctor. Dr. Stillwell looked at her with disappointment in his eyes.

"Now, I haven't the foggiest notion why you felt inclined to lie about your name, but it just so happened that your fiancé—"

"He's _not_ my fiancé," she said, sneering at Beckett for a moment before turning back to the doctor. "And I don't want him in here. In fact, I never want to see him again. Can you please tell him to leave?"

The doctor looked surprised for an instant, and then smiled at Elizabeth.

"Now, I know the pain is intense, but you don't _mean_ those things," he said, winking at Beckett.

"Oh, I very well do mean those things!" Elizabeth exclaimed, again glaring over at Beckett, his complexion paler than usual, who stood silently by the door. "In fact, _Lord Beckett_, I should've let you drown that day; I only wish I had dropped the ship's bloody anchor on you and watched you sink to the depths! What a fool I was for thinking you could ever feel any sort of human emotion!"

Beckett looked crestfallen, gaping at her with mouth slightly ajar. What had brought about such a change in her attitude?

Dr. Stillwell could see his confusion and stepped away from Elizabeth for a moment. He went over to where Beckett was standing and spoke to him in a whisper.

"Mr. Beckett, I must inform you that during the birthing process, a woman will say many things she does not mean," he whispered, looking sympathetic. "Now, Elizabeth's outbursts are –well, a bit harsher than what I've heard in the past, but really, you mustn't take what she says to heart. What she's going through now is the worst natural pain humans can experience and of course, since you are the father of her child, you're to blame, in a way."

"I understand," Beckett replied, the colour slightly returning to his face. The doctor's words had calmed him in a way, though he couldn't imagine why she'd say such absolutely nasty things, being as he wasn't actually the father of her child. Turner was to blame for that.

"I don't know what you're saying to him, Doctor, but I hope you are telling him to leave," Elizabeth remarked, her eyes shut tightly from the pain as her head lie on the bed, neck stiff with exertion.

Dr. Stillwell returned to Elizabeth's feet, squatting back down to examine her progress.

"Why is he not gone yet?" she asked the doctor. "That man is my mortal enemy and is a hateful, vengeful bastard set on using people for all they're worth to him."

"What are you talking about, Elizabeth," Beckett said in a deadpan. "I cannot comprehend your reasoning for why you would turn against me so suddenly."

"Oh, you've no idea? Well, that makes a lot of bloody sense, being as you have no conscience whatsoever, no sense of guilt or shame—"

"You've _still_ to disclose on the specifics of my transgressions against—" he cut in.

"Excuse me, Madam, but your baby is ready to be born. Now, you need to push when I tell you, and breathe deeply when I instruct you to do so. No more squabbling for the time being—this is a very important time to focus on the delivery. Are you ready?"

Beckett took a hesitant step forward, not knowing if this was indeed the pain talking and not so much Elizabeth.

"Stay back, you bastard!" Elizabeth snarled.

"Now, push," the doctor instructed. She did so, letting out a primal sort of noise between her teeth as she did so. Though he stood several feet away from her, Beckett could see the veins bulging in her forehead.

"Good, now breathe in and out, keeping a rhythm about it."

Beckett was morbidly curious as to this whole process. Of course, he also wanted to know the gender of the child. He had never dreamt that Elizabeth wouldn't let him partake in being by her side at this important time. He stepped closer, face remaining impassive.

"I said, stay away! I will not hesitate to shoot you through the heart as soon as I am able!" she raged.

"What the bloody hell is your problem," Beckett replied coldly. "This isn't endearing me to you, you know."

"At least I'm being honest in what I want from you—and that's absolutely nothing! You've ruined my life!"

Beckett clasped his hands in front of him as he stood in front of the door, feeling quite uncomfortable that the doctor had to hear this conversation between them, and a bit embarrassed by all that she was saying to him. His face remained emotionless all the while, though truth to tell, he was rather hurt and confused.

"Now, push again," Dr. Stillwell said. Elizabeth turned her head to look at him and pushed as hard as she could, straining to rid her body of this cannonball of a baby passing through the narrowest of passageways.

"I can see its head," the doctor said. "One more good push and it should be out."

Elizabeth screamed between her teeth as she pushed one final time, half out of rage and half out of pain. She hated that her recently reinstated worst enemy, the man who had been manipulating her to regain his reputation, had to watch her suffering so. She felt the baby's body slide out of her, the doctor's hands assisting its exit.

"It's a boy!" the doctor exclaimed, slapping the baby's bottom. Elizabeth's son let out a shrill cry.

"My God," Beckett said aloud, eyes twinkling with excitement. "A healthy baby boy." Smiling subtly, he began to move towards the tiny infant, noticing his coat had been thrown on the floor in a heap. He bent down and picked up his coat, folding it neatly over an arm without bothering to examine it more closely. His gaze was fixed on the new baby, the little boy in the doctor's arms.

"Well, that fits your scheme quite nicely, eh?" Elizabeth remarked, the obvious anger showing through her complete physical exhaustion.

"What are you blathering about?" he replied, irritated that her spite remained. "You've no reason to be nasty now that it's over."

"It's a boy, Beckett—" she began with an ironic tone, "a boy to raise all your own—to continue your family name… or don't you remember?" she spat. "A wife and child to regain your inheritance."

Beckett deeply inhaled, holding his breath in as his eyes fixated in the distance. _Oh God. _He looked down at the coat draped over an arm. _So she found the letter from Father. How can I possibly justify that?_

"Would you like to hold your son?" the doctor asked Elizabeth, interrupting their argument.

"Of course I would," Elizabeth said with a sneer. "He, on the other hand, has no claim to my son, and never will."

"Elizabeth, can we not talk about this right now," Beckett muttered through gritted teeth, impatience interlaced in his voice. She was set to destroy every piece of life he had tried to put back together. He moved swiftly to the end of the bed until he was only three feet or so away from Elizabeth and her baby.

"I am naming him William Turner," she said to the doctor with a curt smile, cradling her son in her arms. "After his father."

* * *

Dr. Stillwell gasped. Beckett's eyes went wide with shock as he blanched, feeling faint. _She's really sealed my fate now_. Within moments, the doctor glared at Beckett, eyes narrowed as he shook his head with utmost disappointment. Elizabeth's contractions had since finished once the afterbirth had emerged. She lie sweaty and exhausted on the bed, though her ears intently listened to all that went on in the cabin.

"Mr. Beckett, you've made quite a grave err," he said, standing up. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid your tenure with the Royal Navy has come to an end. You must understand, the Navy cannot be involved with a man who attempts to involve himself in a dangerous triangle with the master of the seas and the mother of his child. You know the all-too-true legend of Jones—are you trying to relive it with the new captain of the _Dutchman_?"

"Of course not," Beckett replied with a dismissive tone. Dr. Stillwell continued to speak.

"At present, you will not be arrested for your err in judgment, but if you should attempt to accompany the Royal Navy on any missions I cannot guarantee your continued freedom."

"So you are to discharge me from the Royal Navy for an action committed out of ignorance? How could I have known that Mr. Turner—"

"You knew bloody well I was a married woman—and that I was married to Will," Elizabeth cut in, her face like a stone. "How dare you try to lie, and right in front of me, no less. Did you honestly think I was going to defend you at this moment? I'm glad you lost the job you acquired, certainly out of deceit. You should've been dangling from a rope long ago for your crimes."

"Perhaps so," he replied with a sigh, "but then again—I have value to the King as well as to His Majesty's Royal Navy—and daresay, I had some sort of value to you, lest you would not have rescued me from certain death. If you were to slice your finger on the edge of a treasure map, though you feel wronged by it, you would not dispose of the map, because its value is greater than its imperfections."

"Ha! Imperfections indeed!" Elizabeth said with a loud laugh. "_Your_ 'imperfections,' as you say, are the foundation on which you live! Your greed, your arrogance, your selfish pride are what drives your every action—whether obvious or cleverly disguised as some sort of innocent intention! I hated you from the moment I first met you and I should never have let my naiveté get in the way of that!"

"I know what the basis for your newfound hatred is, Elizabeth," Beckett replied, a cocky smirk materializing on his face. "I find it to be much easier to blame someone else for one's acts of adultery."

"Go to hell," she spat.

"That's enough, the both of you," Dr. Stillwell said, crossing his arms like an angry parent. "Mrs. Turner, you have a baby now. You must control your temper, lest you upset the infant. They can sense their mother's moods, just like any other person. You are living for your child now—you must remember that. And you, Mr. Beckett—have you no sense of respect for what this woman has been through?"

Beckett's face knotted in confusion at this situation. He had just lost everything—_everything_—in the matter of a few minutes—his newly budding career, his fiancée, and what was to be his adopted child. His new life had been cruelly taken from him. _All over that letter—why didn't I leave it at Julia's house? I'll probably be thrown overboard, and the letter will be destroyed in the process. Every chance of redemption, gone. What did I do to deserve such a terrible fate?_

The medic turned to Elizabeth, who kept her gaze on her child. "Keep him wrapped up warmly and feed him when he cries out. He will sleep most of the time for the first couple of weeks. We are expecting to make berth within the next several hours. When we reach land I invite you to stay with my wife and me until you find a suitable place to live. I only request that when your husband returns, you will put in a good word for us. I will fetch some clean sheets for you."

He stood up to leave, taking some of the soiled sheets with him in balled-up fashion.

"Mr. Beckett, I insist that you take your leave as well," he stated, regarding Beckett coldly.

"I need to speak with her, to explain myself," he replied insistently. "This is _our_ matter, and needs to be resolved before we make berth."

"I think you've explained yourself rather well, you arrogant bastard," Elizabeth shot.

The medic sighed, hating to hear anymore but helpless to stop it. "When I return with the fresh sheets, I expect you to have left her cabin—she needs to rest, not to be worked up over all the wrongs you've committed against her."

* * *

Little William was the smallest person Elizabeth had ever seen. Having been born prematurely, he was extremely fragile, with arms and legs like tiny splinters and a slightly bloated pinkish-red belly. His cries now were a bit weaker than his initial cry, as if he were already tiring of being awake. Elizabeth held him close to her warm breast, feeling the presence of her husband Will as she held his child. She ignored Beckett as she cooed to the tiny infant, watching it suckle her finger with eyes closed. She was immediately in love with the tiny being who needed her constant protection and care.

"Elizabeth," Beckett said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He stood at the foot of the bed with his hands clasped behind him, legs shoulder-width apart, head slightly bowed, as if standing like a soldier at ease.

She ignored his voice, knowing that he'd be gone when the doctor returned—which wouldn't be too long.

"I would like to explain, if I may," he continued, watching the side of her face as she stared down at the infant, a smile on her face.

"Elizabeth." His tone was insistent, almost pleading.

"You needn't explain," Elizabeth replied, not bothering to look up at him. "I think the letter explains it all rather well."

"I received that letter only _after_ I was thrown from the _Pearl_ and once having returned to Southampton."

"And that's supposed to explain it? You _used_ me. What if I had birthed a girl? Would you have thrown me on the streets with naught but a word of explanation? I would only be left with my guilt for betraying my good devoted husband for a worthless coward."

"No," he replied curtly.

"I wished that they'd keelhaul you, now that they know of your true intentions, to use a sickly woman who also happened to be pregnant," she spat. "Or better yet, that they'd throw you overboard with a cannon strapped to your ankles—oh, it's a shame the Kraken is gone! I condemned a man—a _pirate_ far more innocent than _you,_ to die by the Kraken."

"And I condemned the Kraken to die," Beckett replied, a smug expression on his face. Elizabeth looked over at him, her expression grave.

"Chalk that up as your life's only justifiable feat. Certainly you've committed thousands of atrocities against innocents that would cause any person with a soul to never get a night's sleep, yet you feel guiltless—_smug_, even. Yes, Beckett—you'll have to find yourself another woman to manipulate into marrying you," Elizabeth hissed, "because you certainly cannot get anyone to love you by being yourself."

Beckett blinked several times, his mouth slightly ajar yet silent. Though his expression remained impassive, his eyes could not rise above the stained mattress to look Elizabeth in the eye. A wave of dread washed over him, compounded by a sick feeling in his stomach. He blinked several more times and then bowed his head in surrender. Without uttering a word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, hands still clasped behind his back. As well as in his final moments aboard the doomed _Endeavour_, this was one of the only times in his life he was at a loss for words.

* * *

So I am currently working on the chapter after this one! I am back on track again, loyal readers! I hope you are still interested enough to follow along as I post the last couple of updates! It shouldn't be as long as before, being as the next chapter is already halfway written! Thanks to all who have reviewed expressing your continued interest and those who have read all these 26 chapters thus far!


	28. Seagulls and Southampton

The _Flying Dutchman_, though traveling above the surface of the water, had caught herself running against the wind, which enabled her to travel much faster across the waves. Will Turner resigned himself to the organ room most of the time, feeling uncomfortable about the willingness of Jack Sparrow's daughter to speak so brazenly to him about matters which he believed should be kept between him and his wife. He thought about how Beckett could've coaxed Elizabeth into abandoning the lifetime love she had had with him –how he could have swayed her into cavorting with a sworn enemy while pregnant, no less.

Will had ignored the occasional knock which most likely signified Joana's want of intrusion. Truth to tell, he was tired of helping her translate her book and he thought about Elizabeth all the time—her long dark hair, the mischievous twinkle in her eye as she walked about in the most proper of petticoats. She was a different sort of woman—one who lived for adventure and thrills, a woman who had stood against society, against her forced fiancé Commodore Norrington, to promise herself to a lowly blacksmith, the son of a pirate. And the odd thing was, she had seemed to be even more thrilled to know of Will's parentage—his connection to a pirate. What was the draw with Cutler bloody Beckett? He came from a wealthy family chock full of Royal Navy officers and had a burning desire to wipe out all pirate-kind. He was, quite simply, the opposite of what Elizabeth, what with her temperament and desires, should be looking for. And yet, she was aboard the commandeered _Black Pearl,_ most likely lying in the arms of this enemy at this very moment.

"Cap'n Turner!" said the male voice at the door, heavy raps accompanying it.

"What do you want," Will asked blandly, staring at the dusty keys of Davy Jones' pipe organ.

"It's somethin' really odd—the sky is just full of 'em!" the voice replied.

"Full of what," Will responded, irritated by the interruption of his thoughts, depressing though they were.

"Seagulls, Cap'n! I've ne'er seen so many in one place!"

In a matter of moments Will had hesitantly risen to his feet, which seemed to be bowing out so much as to make it uncomfortable to do much other than sit. He limped to the door, opening it to find Ragetti, his back to the door and covered in bird droppings whilst the flock of seagulls landed all over the deck of the _Dutchman_.

"What's going on?" Will said, pushing past the skinny pirate on his way to the bow of the ship. He watched seagulls swoop down onto his crew, pecking at their fishy hair and bodies. The bosun swung the cat o' nine tails about his head in an attempt to shoo the gulls away from him.

"Oy!"

Will spun round to face the crew of his ship who were attempting to shoo the birds, their craggy bodies pitted with gull droppings.

"Who said that?" Will asked, his eyes darting around suspiciously.

All of a sudden a piece of a board tied to a long string of various fabrics knotted together clattered loudly, wrapping around the bowsprit.

"Who goes there?" Will spat, turning around to face the intruder. He pulled a sword from his scabbard, brandishing it in front of him.

Suddenly a woman appeared on the bowsprit, her face grotesquely painted with runny makeup, hair caked with seagull excrement. She looked positively furious, attempting to kick behind her as she pulled herself onto the jagged wood of the bowsprit, an unknown person's hand then relenting to push up on her underskirts. Several seconds later, she sat upon the craggy bowsprit of the _Flying Dutchman_, gazing up at the hideous visage of the transformed Will. Predictably, she screamed. Will blinked indignantly, a confused expression on his face.

"Oy, didn' I tell you wot to expect, luv?" a male voice came from behind her. All remained silent for a few moments, as if the speaker was thinking. "Bugger. You're Turkish. It's no wonder you said nothing."

A ring-clad hand tightly clenching a bottle of rum shot up from the sea, the arm following it heaving itself over the wood of the bowsprit. A familiar face followed, his gold teeth gleaming in the sun.

"What in God's name—Jack—how did you end up here?" Will asked, gawking at the soaked pirate below him. He could see through the flock of seagulls a crude wooden platform floating on the surface of the water utterly swarming with the birds. He could see a large heap of dead gulls lying on the platform, their bodies getting pecked at ruthlessly by their peers.

Ayla pulled herself aboard the _Dutchman_ without help from the terrible-looking captain, finding herself surrounded by fish-people and a couple of filthy, dropping-covered pirates. Unable to recognize anyone from the group, what with everyone covered in filth, she shook the water out of her dress and moved as far away from the whole lot as she could.

With a great heave of his body, Jack Sparrow pulled himself onto the ship, opening his bottle of rum to finish off the last slug. He stumbled right into Will, completely drunk.

"William Turner—err, Captain Turner, as it were," Jack said, swaying back and forth as he recorked his bottle. He touched the young captain on his back. "'s been quite a while, has it not? Must say, I'm more—drunker—than I thought… because right now, in this light, you look like th' bloody spittin' image o' Davy Jones."

"Your vision does not fail you," Will replied, keeping an air of coldness about him.

"Wot?" Jack said, squinting at Will's hands. He touched the rough chitinous top of Will's starfish hand and pulled his hand back daintily, sticking out his tongue with disgust.

"Too much soakin' in seawater'll do that to a man," Jack said aloud, more to himself, in apparent disbelief. "Now, wot brings you from your—well…" He couldn't find the words to say. If Will was indeed transformed, that meant he was either corrupted or had corrupted his duty. By being present on earth at the current time, the second was true, for the moment.

"A man has stolen my heart," Will said.

"Ah… that explains quite a lot," Jack murmured, an uncomfortable smile on his face. "I apologize for thinking you a eunuch, when clearly it was—"

"That's _not_ what I meant," Will retorted, flashing Jack a dark look. "A man stole the chest from the island where I left it—with Elizabeth. Whatever he did with the heart, it was causing me constant pain, and so I had to return from World's End to find it and get it back—I'm not entirely certain what he is currently doing with my heart, but it seems as if he's holding it ransom, but without telling me what the ransom is. I'm returning to Southampton to retrieve my heart _and_ my wi—"

"Oh. I see," Jack replied, boredom in his slurred voice. "So wot are you doing wiv th' rest of my crew aboard?"

Joana, having unsuccessfully attempted to cover her head from the seagulls, moved to the bow to see her father.

"Dad!" she cried, running to him. She gave the wet pirate a hug, soaking herself in the process.

"Joana!" Jack said with a crooked smile. "I couldn't figure out wot happened to you." His jaw slackened. "You're still alive, right?" Gingerly, he reached out and pinched her arm.

"Of course I'm still alive," she replied. "Why are you so—wet?" she asked, looking quizzical.

"I thought I'd tidy up a bit wiv a bath before boarding this fine ship," he said. "However, before said sea bath, I looked like bloody Governor Swann, wot wiv my hair covered in—"

"Speaking of Governor Swann… When did you last see Elizabeth?" Will questioned the dreadlocked pirate. Irritated, Joana stepped away from her father, using a wet sleeve to wipe some bird matter off her hand.

"Last I saw her, she was wiv child an' was sittin' on the deck of th' _Pearl_. 'Course, that was before Beckett an' th' whole Royal Navy invaded my ship."

"How did you end up in the middle of the bloomin' ocean?" Pintel cut in. "I thought you was dead."

"I successfully escaped my captor ship, the _Intrepid_. They don't build ships like they used to, that's for certain. Hull was loose all over th' place. By the way, your strategy, wot wiv th' dead bodies tossed from th' _Pearl_ wiv barrels attached—quite an inspiration, I must say. Though, I wasn't about to kill the lady—" he looked over at the Turkish prostitute, her hair hanging in strings around a face smothered with torrents of makeup, and grimaced—"my fellow escapee."

Suddenly the woman peered over from her corner, regarding Jack with a puzzled glance. Will was not interested in meeting anyone new, and asked more questions of the pirate, ignoring the prostitute.

"Where are Gibbs and Barbossa? Were they with you?" he asked.

Jack looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Well, if they haven't drowned, then I suppose they may still be aboard th' _Intrepid_, however long it remains afloat…."

"Haven't changed a bit, I see," Will muttered, looking half-disgusted.

"Wot do you mean by that?"

"You care for no one but yourself."

Jack flashed Will a look of mock hurt. "Wot am I to do about it, eh? I was th' one floating on th' water in a bloody thunderstorm. I doubt Mr. Gibbs' situation was as dangerous, wotever it was… or is. An' Barbossa—well, I should hope that he's off to the next world because o' wot I did to that ship."

Their conversation was interrupted by heavy footfalls. Bootstrap Bill strode quickly across the deck, towering above Jack upon reaching the bow of the ship. The assigned helmsman for the day, he couldn't help but temporarily leave his station to satisfy his curiosity with the happenings at the bow of the _Dutchman_.

"Still alive, eh?" the craggy old pirate asked Jack, giving him a good-natured pat on the back. "Every time I hear ye've died, ye show up somewhere very much alive."

"When you hear news of my death, mate, ye have to remember one important thing. That being, that I'm Captain J—"

"Who's at the helm?" Will interrupted, turning to his father.

"No one at the moment, but I just had to see what all the fuss—"

"We have a mission to uphold—the longer we take, the less likely we'll be to find the chest and Elizabeth. Do you want to look like this forever?!"

Bootstrap looked crestfallen. His shoulders slumped as he turned away from Jack, the starfish on his forehead squirming.

"Alright, Will; I'll get back to my duty—"

"Let him be," Joana suddenly said to Will. "I can steer the ship."

Will sighed, ignoring her but forgetting about being angry at his father. Joana left hastily for the helm, disgusted that she had barely been paid a minute of attention from her father before it had been taken away from her.

"So you are again in search of your bonny lass," Jack muttered, turning to the young captain. "I should think you ought to maroon her on some uninhabited spit o' land th' next time you leave, lest someone—"

"Lest someone _what_?" Will fumed. "Steals her from me again? Takes the only thing I care about in this world? She even had a going-on with _you_ for some time, for God's sake! Can I not expect my own wife to be faithful to me?"

Jack held up a finger as he wobbled unsteadily on his feet.

"You cannot blame my ability to charm the lovelier sex—it's universal. No woman can resist yours truly—an' that's not your fault wotsoever. She an' I… are quite alike—it's nigh impossible to tie us down," he replied, a rogue grin on his face.

Suddenly Will lunged forward, shoving Jack forcefully into the gunwale, the pirate's back thudding against the sharp projections in the wood. He had not expected an act of violence from Will, and had he not been so intoxicated, it would have really hurt.

Bootstrap shoved an arm in between the two men. "He's drunk, Will. He's not speakin' clearly. And yer not thinkin' clearly. We need to finish this mission. Ye need to speak with Elizabeth for yerself."

Will flashed his father a dark look. "Didn't defending Sparrow get you thrown off the _Pearl_ and indebted to this very ship for one hundred years of service?" he spat, moving his father's arm out of the way. "I should think that you should be less willing to protect a person who would _never_ put his safety on the line for others. In fact, he prefers when others are used to settle _his_ debts and guard _him_ from the inevitable, lest he mines up Cortes's lost gold… or better yet, finds the bloody fountain of youth."

* * *

Cutler Beckett sat on a small keg in the brig of the _Black Pearl_, mind swimming with thoughts. _What can I do now? She's never going to get over that letter. She probably thinks she's destroyed my life, which she certainly seems to have done. I've no job, no fiancée, no child, no inheritance._ He bent down for several moments, sitting back up with something in his hand. _Though I've lost the prospect of her, I could still retrieve my job or my inheritance. _He smiled a subtle self-satisfied smirk as he held the key to the Dead Man's Chest. _Maybe both, actually…._

"Land ho!" came a shout from the crow's nest. Beckett could hear a stirring aboard and immediately bent back down, placing the key back in its hiding place. After the key was sufficiently hidden, he stood up, shaking out the coat—only to find that every single buttonhole was ripped, every button torn off the front of his coat.

"Shit," he muttered, examining the buttonless holes in his coat. He slipped the coat on, reaching into a small inner coat pocket to find the location of his father's letter. She had not destroyed it or even crinkled it. It was folded along the same creases as before.

_Hmm…. Would blackmail be the best course of action? Elizabeth would very well despise me for the remainder of my existence if I proposed such a thing. The problem is, she believes that Turner took the key from her as a sort of dissolution of the marriage. So it would be foolish to admit to doing so myself. Wouldn't want to have Turner redeemed in her eyes. Or, better yet—I could participate in a sort of a trade-off, as it were. I'm certain Admiral Morgan would be happy to have his hands on the key and the chest both—but then again, who's to say _he_ should keep the chest? Both were once mine, and they can be mine again. And once poor Mr. Turner, certainly no Davy Jones, is doomed to serve me, I can ask for—and take—what I want from him. Namely, his wife. And for me to guarantee the continued safety and security of her _beloved_ lobster face, she would have to bow to my will. _

Whistling a merry tune, Beckett straightened his clothing out as best he could manage and ascended the ladder, as if without a care in the world. Once the ship had docked in Southampton's main harbor, he helped secure the ship to the dock as Dr. Stillwell emerged from below deck, carrying Elizabeth in his arms. Elizabeth held her baby close to her chest, noticing Beckett's change in demeanor out of the corner of her eye. She pretended not to notice that he looked happy—was it he who was whistling?

Upon placement of the gangplank, Dr. Stillwell strode down the board with Elizabeth and her baby in his arms. He had helped her dress in clothing more appropriate than a nightgown; rather, he clad her in a rather baggy pair of breeches, one of Beckett's white overshirts, and her shoes. She took one last fleeting glance back at the _Black Pearl_, her home for so long, now the property of the British Royal Navy, courtesy of Beckett. _How could I have been such a fool_, she mused. _To keep my friends close, that was wise—Jack, Mr. Gibbs, and the crew of the _Pearl_, fighting beside them, freezing beside them, celebrating beside them—but then, I allowed an enemy to get closer—close enough to manipulate me, close enough to tear me from the man I thought I loved the most._ _And now I have nothing. Will has understandably abandoned me, the_ Black Pearl_ has again been taken from Jack, and I'm in a strange city with a child and no one to trust. _

* * *

As the Royal Navy crew of the _Black Pearl _made their way off the former pirate ship, Cutler Beckett took his time aboard deck. Upon seeing the captain headed down the gangplank, he ducked into the captain's cabins. Perhaps the Royal Navy had left some pirate treasure behind. It was something to do to restore his reputation—or at least to barter for it back. Unsurprisingly, the cabin had been utterly ransacked by the Royal Navy. Chests lay on their sides, all gold, jewel, and obviously valuable contents long-gone. All that remained were a collection of papers and scruffy pirate clothes. Beckett found himself sifting through the mess, not quite squatting, as he saw that most of the chests held what had been secretly stashed bottles of rum. Many of the bottles had been broken, their contents having since spilled out, soiling many of the articles of clothing and papers.

"Absolutely appalling," Beckett muttered, sniffing the rummy air. "I wonder if the Royal Navy realizes this is now their ship. No less heathen than the pirates."

He moved from chest to chest, occasionally lifting up a soggy piece of paper and noticing it to be the destroyed remnants of a map. _Perhaps I should've trailed the bloody medic in order to know where he has taken Elizabeth_, he mused. _Eh, or I could simply ask the right people. There has to be _something_ of value that the Navy missed…._

His disappointment became more apparent as he sifted through each chest, finding only the remains of potentially important maps and charts. Even Jack's compass was not present, most likely remaining on his person.

_Bloody hell; there's nothing left_, the short Englishmen mused, dropping the soggy remains of paper on the floor.

One chest, it seemed, had much more of a cache of rum bottles than the other chests. Becoming sickened at the overwhelming stench of spilled rum, Beckett turned his head as he reached into the bottom of the chest. A sharp piercing sensation made him jerk his hand back. He lifted his hand to his face, blood trickling from the tip of his index finger, a triangular-shaped piece of brown glass lodged in the end of his finger.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, picking the piece of glass out of his flesh. He peered over the edge of the chest, noticing the bevy of broken glass at the bottom. It seemed as if at least a dozen bottles of rum had been broken and spilled into this chest. "Nothing perishable could survive that mess," he grumbled. But then, something cylindrical was lying in the bottom of the chest, soaked in rum. _It'll probably fall apart as soon as I touch it_, he mused, reaching into the chest.

Shuddering at the feeling of cold rum on his hand, Beckett reached through the mess of glass and alcohol to grab the cylindrical object. The cut in his finger gave him a sharp pain as it became submerged in the alcohol. Surprisingly, the object at the bottom of this chest had remained stiff. A perplexed expression on his face, Beckett lifted the item out of the bottom of the chest. Rum dribbled from the object, clearly something made out of paper, yet not ruined.

Careful not to touch the paper with his bleeding finger, Beckett undid the bow holding the paper in a cylindrical shape, and slowly unraveled the paper. He was met with a rather odd-looking puzzle, a series of concentric circles surrounding a picture of a ship. What appeared to be a crudely drawn map of the world lay offset by these circles, which seemed to be constructed of different sheets of coated paper held together in the center. _Very interesting_, he mused, rolling the map back up again. _Very interesting indeed._

Quickly he shook out the map as best he could and tucked the map into his coat, pulling the buttonless sides of his coat together and crossing his arms to keep the map concealed. He exited the cabin hastily, satisfied with his find.

* * *

Elizabeth held little William close to her chest as she was carried by the Royal Navy medic to the dock. She felt absolutely pitiful, what with needing to be carried.

"Stop for a moment," she said to the doctor, causing him to look down at her with a puzzled expression. "Let me walk," she said insistently, shifting her weight in his arms.

"You've just had a child. There's a great risk of your tearing the weakened—"

"Please let me walk," Elizabeth said again. "I am perfectly capable of walking."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, allowing her to stand on her feet. Elizabeth stood unsteadily at first, letting the doctor take the baby from her as she gained her footing. She followed beside yet slightly trailing the doctor as she took small steps. Though she now felt the pain of the recent childbirth, her health had been restored being as the Spanish fly was no longer threatening the health of her child. She looked over at her tiny pink baby held in Dr. Stillwell's arm, and thought of how lucky she was to have had a healthy child after the prolonged sickness she had experienced.

"May I hold him?" she asked the doctor, her expression warmed by the sight of her healthy pink baby. Carefully, he transferred the infant to her arms, and they made their way back to his dwelling, a modest home within view of the harbor, being as he had to be readily available to treat members of the Royal Navy entering and exiting the harbor. _It could have been so different than this_, she mused. _I supposed that when we made berth that I would become Mrs. Beckett, settle into England for a while until I had the baby—then perhaps we could've returned to the Caribbean. After all, I cannot stand the idea of corsets and petticoats my whole life, and he wasn't going to change my mind about that. God… I loved him—at least, I thought I did, based on his newfound integrity, and he told me he loved me—lying to me right through his teeth. How could I have known of his true intentions? _

_And Will—I'm afraid that it may be true that he is the embodiment of Davy Jones. Why didn't he go back to World's End when he saw he was morphing into that monstrous thing? I hate to admit it to myself, but if he is transformed, I may not feel the same way about him. But then again, my feelings about him have been different for a while… all because of bloody Beckett._

_I have no money, no family--how am I going to take care of little William? _She looked at the sleeping infant in her arms. _If it weren't for my rashness earlier, Beckett might've agreed to provide for you as an act of contrition--he did seem to be apologetic. Oh, who am I kidding? Beckett, sincerely apologetic? Ha! _

* * *

Upon exiting the _Black Pearl_, Beckett made haste to Hampton House, his birthplace, so that he could convince his sister Julia to accompany him to the home of her husband, the current admiral of the Royal Navy. As the coach traveled through the streets of Southampton, Beckett peered out the window of the coach at the overcast sky, low-hanging grey clouds blocking the sun. The ground was waterlogged, muddy puddles in the grass and filling the dips in the cobblestone road. The city looked quite miserable, the humidity of the air hanging so thick that it felt like a cold mist on the skin. Though he was dressed warmly, Beckett shuddered.

Once the horses had stopped in the muddy driveway in front of Hampton House, he looked up at the building, squinting as he held together the ruined coat. Beckett promptly paid his driver and stepped down from the coach, gazing up at the house, which appeared to be empty. The house seemed smaller and older than he remembered. No sign of horse or carriage tracks marred the muddy gravel driveway. The shrubs lining the house had since grown unruly, large branches needing to be trimmed back. The place looked to be abandoned.

"Can you wait here, please?" Beckett asked the driver as he took a couple of steps toward the house. "I would like to be certain that my sister is home before I am left without a means of travel."

"You mean Mrs. Morgan?" the driver blurted.

"Yes."

"Mrs. Morgan don't live here anymore. She's now residin' in the home of Admiral Morgan, her husband."

"You must take me there. We must make haste," Beckett replied, as he quickly returned to the coach, climbing back into the seat again.

"But, Sir, I may need special clearance to enter the estate—"

"I am Mrs. Morgan's brother," Beckett stated flatly. "Is that not clearance enough?"

"Whatever you say, Sir," the driver replied, signaling the horses to go.

_I feel like quite the imbecile now_, Beckett mused, looking at the quiet house. _I may not have even needed a wife and child to inherit the building, now that Julia has taken up residence elsewhere._ _Carrying around this paper was all for naught. Elizabeth and I would have moved right in—her child sharing my surname and not that damn blacksmith's. Do I really care more for that bloody house than I do for her, to put my future with her at risk for a promise of inheritance?_

Sulkily, Beckett slumped down in the soft seat of the coach, staring at his hands.

_She still has my ring_, he mused, eyes widening as he gaped at his bare finger. _Oh, she's going to throw it away; I just know it. _

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, shoulders sinking. Sighing, he tucked his hands into his coat, running his fingers along the buttonless holes.

* * *

Thanks for your continued interest! I plan on updating more frequently now!


	29. An Issue Of Trust

CHAPTER 29: An Issue Of Trust

Thank you to everyone who is still following along with this story! You guys are great!

* * *

It was not long before the coach reached the locked gates of the admiral's estate. A guard stood near the gate, brandishing a musket with a bayonet on its end. Beckett climbed out of the coach, again paying the driver. As he handed over the money, he heard a voice behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?" the harsh voice asked. "This is private property."

Beckett turned around, a hint of an irritated scowl on his face.

"I am the brother of Mrs. Julia Morgan," Beckett said, voice wrought with disdain.

"So?"

"As Mrs. Morgan's brother, I have a relationship with her that grants me access to her home."

"Says who?" the guard remarked, smirking. "Are you drunk, man? You smell like rum."

By this point the coach driver was getting antsy.

"You can leave, thank you," Beckett told him dismissively. "It appears that this guard would very much like some sort of promotion for his lengthy questioning of visitors."

"Are you sure, Sir?"

"Yes. You've more important things to attend to than watching this inane banter."

The coach driver went on his way, leaving Beckett standing in front of the gate, the guard not budging from his post.

"Your relationship does not grant you access. I am the one with that responsibility, Mister—"

"Beckett."

"Beckett—as in _Cutler_ Beckett?" the guard replied, his eyes narrowed sinisterly. Cutler had a feeling this was not going to go well.

"Yes."

The guard took a deep breath, glaring at Beckett.

"My brother, God rest 'is soul, was on that bloody _Endeavour_ of yours when you sank it, you incompetent arse!" Growling, he pointed the bayonet at Beckett, thrusting it so close to the shorter man that Beckett had to take a step back to stay out of harm's way. Beckett could only stare at the house, so near and yet so far, annoyed to have to allow a commoner to harangue him so. In his tenure as lord of the East India Trading Company he could have sent this guard to the gallows for his words. Now he was forced to listen to this dissention, unable to do anything about it. Even so, he kept his irritation over the situation hidden.

"I did not sink the _Endeavour_," Beckett replied matter-of-factly, expression remaining impassive. "That is the fault of the _Flying Dutchman_ and the _Black Pearl_."

"No, _you_ sank your ship. You could've obliterated those little heaps o' wood. All you had to do was give a simple order—say a simple bloody word—"Fire!" Instead, you just stood there like a statue and watched my brother—your whole bloody crew— get blown to pieces."

Beckett looked thoughtful for a moment.

"If they all died, as you say, how is it that you know what happened?"

The guard fell silent, flashing Beckett a look of confusion. As he gloated over his win in the battle of wits, Beckett saw someone walking, a movement near the house on the other side of the gate, but kept his eyes on the guard. The long distance of the gate from the house made it difficult to identify the person. He saw with his peripheral vision a full skirt distinguishing the person as a woman. _Could it be Julia?_ Suddenly Beckett spoke up loudly.

"I demand that you let me, _Cutler Beckett_, into this gate to speak with my sister."

The woman near the house stopped in place, looking towards the gate.

"I request an audience with _Julia Morgan_," Beckett stated loudly and clearly, watching the woman begin to move towards the gate.

"You already said that—I'm not deaf, you know," the guard replied. "Well, _I _request that you bring my brother back to life, and only then can you come in an' see your sibling. You should be in a pine box right about now for the murder of all those innocent—"

"I think you'll have to take that one up with the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_," Beckett replied with a pompous half-smile. He had won.

"Cutler, is that you?" came a voice on the other side of the gate. Julia Morgan stood in a beautiful blue gown, hair pulled up under a ravishing hat, moving into view of her brother. As she strode towards him, he noticed a rather large bruise on her neck, shielded partially by a couple of curled tendrils of hair that had fallen out of her hat.

"Julia," Beckett replied, relief on his features. He flashed the guard a rather evil albeit brief smirk as Julia pulled open the gates from the other side, allowing him entrance into the estate grounds.

"I've word from the Royal Navy that you've greatly aided us in ridding the water of pirates," she remarked, a smile on her face. "So the infamous _Black Pearl_ is docked in Southampton's harbor?"

"Yes," Beckett said with a suddenly shy smile, his head down and hands clasped behind his back. He kicked at a dirt clod on the ground, lifting his head to smile at his sister.

"And you've captured the co-captains of the _Black Pearl_, who are currently imprisoned on the _Intrepid_?"

"Yes," he again answered, beaming proudly at her. Though she was happy for her brother, they did not have a close enough relationship to elicit a congratulatory hug. She simply wrung her hands, slapping them on her skirts.

"How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Thomas—eh, Admiral Morgan—will be very pleased to hear of this development! I'm sure you're raring to tell him the good news!"

"Yes."

"Have you nothing more to say than 'yes'?" she asked, grinning at him as he began to follow her onto the estate grounds.

"Yes."

"Ha! A bad question, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

She began to laugh, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. _So Cutler is not a pirate sympathizer, thank God. He's certainly redeemed himself by using his knowledge of the pirate's whereabouts to find and capture them. Thomas's job has just been made a lot easier by my brother's actions—I only hope he appreciates it._

* * *

Soon, brother and sister made it to the front door of the massive home of the admiral. Beckett peered up at the building, which was a full three stories high, a sturdy square constructed of blocks of what appeared to be granite. The windows of this home were enormous, easily eight feet tall on the ground floor, and were made of the cleanest plate glass. Though Hampton House was once the dwelling of General Beckett, the admiral's estate nearly doubled it in size. This increased wealth for the admiral of the Royal Navy made sense, what with England being an island nation and the admiral having to head a rather massive navy in order to protect and defend it.

A butler greeted them at the door, eyeing Cutler as he held open the door for the siblings to enter. As Beckett's eyes adjusted to the dim light in the house, he saw two children bounding about the halls, yelling and laughing as the girl gave chase to the boy. The rugs on the polished marble floor were a beautiful crimson decorated with paisley designs, illuminated by the polished gold sconces on the wall. A large gold chandelier full of lit candles hung in the foyer, free of any kind of dust or cobweb. The house was impeccable and far more luxurious than Hampton House.

"William! Kitty!" Julia suddenly exclaimed. Both children froze in place, turning their heads to look at their mother, who stood next to a strange man.

"Children, this is your Uncle Cutler," she told them, touching her brother momentarily on the arm. He was unaccustomed to such an exchange with his sister and stood with his hands clasped in front of him, holding the buttonless coat together.

"Hello," Kitty said, face twisted in confusion. So this was her long-lost uncle, the one her mother had desecrated for years. He didn't look like such a horrible person. She had certainly not expected him to look the way he did. Her uncle was rather short, his dark blond hair pulled back with a tie, and a boyishly round face with no facial hair, and with the same blue eyes as her mother. He stood with an air of propriety in a coat that had appeared to have lost all of its buttons, keeping his face in a tight-lipped smile of impatience.

"William, are you not going to greet your uncle?" Julia requested, leaning towards her youngest child.

"Hello, Uncle Cutler," the boy muttered.

"Hello, William and Kitty," Cutler said softly but regally. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He couldn't help but think of Elizabeth and her son at this time, the son he could have raised as his own. The infant he hadn't even been able to hold or touch. The thought saddened him.

"There are two others running around here someplace, Thomas and John," Julia cut in. "I'm sure you'll get to see them today as well."

He gave her a half-hearted smile. _Four. Bloody hell. I can't even lay claim to one child, let alone four._

She took notice of his bland response. "By the way, have you been drinking?" she asked him in a whisper, leaning towards him.

"No. Why do you ask?" he said, feeling self-conscious. He hadn't had a brandy since he had been aboard the _Endeavour_, which had been at least seven months ago. So much had happened since then. He had been devastatingly defeated by the pirates and subsequently captured, rescued by Elizabeth and saved from certain death. He had endured torture at the hands of pirates and Elizabeth—and she had nursed him back to health. He had been arrested in Port Royal and had been moments from execution, saved once again by the pirates. He had traveled with the pirates to Greenland and then to the Azores, a place that held only negative memories for him. In the meantime, he had become close to Elizabeth aboard the _Black Pearl_, the "punishment" in the brig a turning point. However, it was in the Azores that he and Elizabeth shared their first kiss. After that point their relationship was certainly a bit more _intimate_.

"You smell like alcohol," she replied in a whisper, startling him.

"Odd," he replied quickly, feeling affronted and embarrassed of his being startled. He then remembered the strange map he had fished out of the chest filled with rum, and realization hit him. "Oh, it must be these clothes. Someone must've spilled something on them, because I do recall their being damp when I put them on this morning."

Julia nodded half-heartedly. Her brother's less-than-thrilled response to finally meeting his niece and nephew was troubling to Julia Morgan. It seemed as if the penitent, humble Cutler she had run across a couple of months ago was no more, replaced by a curt, arrogant man—essentially, the way he had always been. He had, of course, done her and her husband a great favour in capturing the most infamous pirates on the seven seas—or so it was rumored. The _Black Pearl_ had arrived with a Royal Navy crew, who quickly made their rounds in Southampton, telling of the easy arrest of the totally unaware pirates sitting on their docked ship in Constantinople. It seemed Beckett had been redeemed to the Royal Navy, but his current behavior was making her uneasy.

Before another word was spoken, Julia grabbed her brother's arm and pulled him down the hall into the sitting room, a large room with mahogany paneled walls and large comfortable chairs with crimson velvet cushions. _My estate in Port Royal was nothing like this_, Beckett mused, allowing her to escort him. _What does one have to do nowadays to live in such luxury?_ She shut the door behind them and moved towards the chairs arranged in a half-circle in front of a large fireplace with a pure white marble mantle, a starkly contrasting colour from the rest of the room.

"So, what did you wish to speak with me about?" Julia queried her brother, sitting down in a chair whilst beckoning for him to do the same. He sat hesitantly, discomfort obvious in his manner of moving.

"Well," he began, folding his hands over his stomach, "I wondered… how you were doing. I see that you've moved—"

"It's about Hampton House, is it not?" Julia replied, face suddenly sour. "Being as my husband will be admiral for years to come, you can live there—now that you're back to stay, of course."

"It's not about that—" he replied quickly, realizing his attempt at small talk had failed. He had not meant to bring the family estate up in such a manner.

Suddenly he thought of something he could ask his sister, being as speaking with her wasn't his original intention. She was the first woman he had spoken with since Elizabeth. The thought of Elizabeth pained him. How could he have been so stupid, to carry around that letter—to even think of using her when it was plain that they held such affection between them after such a strangely, delicately built relationship?

"Then where _are_ you going to live?" Julia's voice suddenly cut in, interrupting his thoughts. "Don't you want to live in Hampton H—"

"I thought I did," he began, "but now I'm not so sure that I deserve to live there."

"Why do you say that?" she replied, face twisted with confusion. "I don't understand—"

"It has nothing to do with you or your husband or children. I've done something that—"

"Done what?"

The troubled expression on his face turned to that of annoyance.

"Well, if you hadn't interrupted, I could've already told you by now," he replied coldly.

She looked at him, half-fearful, half-irritated, but said nothing. He took a deep breath and began again, his forehead etched with lines Julia had not seen before.

"As I was saying, I've done… oh, sod it."

Abruptly he stood up, turning to face the door as he removed his hands from his coat, allowing the garment to open. He glanced back at his sister, shaking his head.

"I can't do this," he muttered, jaw set.

Julia stood up, greatly concerned. She moved towards him, holding onto her skirts.

"What are you talking about? Can't do what? What happened?"

"Don't suddenly pretend you care," Beckett snapped, his voice full of bitterness as he turned his head to look at her. "I realize I've no one in whom to confide—"

"You can confide in me," she replied. "I'm your sister and I—"

"And you've no reason to listen to a word I say. The fact that I've wronged everyone I've ever met makes it clear to me that my words have every reason to be used against me."

"Why the sudden self-importance?" she shot back. "Though I give you credit for helping capture the pirates and commandeer their ship, by no means are you suddenly worthy of some sort of blackmail. I offered Hampton House to you as a gift in your role in furthering my husband's career, not as some sort of prize you've acquired with some newly held high status."

"—But isn't your husband to appoint me as an officer of the—"

"Once he sees the pirates, he says it's an _option_," she replied, ire in her voice. "God, you are such a paranoid man. It's no wonder you've spent your life alone. You are wholly and completely unable to trust anybody, and I feel utter pity for you."

Beckett's face fell, shoulders slumped as soon as the words had left her mouth. He could do no more than stare at the floor, having heard statements just like this from Elizabeth. Julia watched this and was shocked. She gaped at him, noticing that he could no longer lift his eyes from the floor. He let out a sort of half-sigh, trudging towards the door.

"Once he sees the pirates are captured, he will then offer you a higher position in the Royal Navy. Don't worry; if you've done all that I've heard, you're guaranteed a promotion."

"It's not that," he replied demurely, walking away from her.

"You're not going anywhere," Julia suddenly said, moving between her brother and the door to bar his way.

"What are you talking about," he asked her blandly, lifting his eyes for only a moment to look at her.

"I want you to tell me what's wrong," she said, hands on hips. "Trust someone, for once in your bloody life."

Slowly he raised his head. His eyes looked glassy in the light of the fireplace. Julia was utterly baffled.

"Cutler," she said in a soft voice. She watched him intently as he stared off in the distance, unable to keep his eyes on her for more than a moment.

"I've lost someone," he murmured, voice barely louder than a whisper. "And it's my fault." He fell silent, staring again at the floor.

"You mean… they died?" she replied carefully.

"No, _she_ is not dead. Though she now wishes _me_ to be."

Julia Morgan remained silent so that her brother could continue. She did not want to interrupt him again, lest he become angry again and leave.

"I took advantage of her fondness for me, as inexplicable as that may sound. I won her affection after many months, and rather than enjoy it for what it was, I looked to benefit from it."

"How so?"

"That's not important," he snapped. "All that matters is that she discovered this—intention at the worst possible moment, and now I'll never see her again, deservedly so."

"Did you apologize?"

"In a way," he replied, sounding unsure.

"How? In your usual manner of speaking? Or did you put some sort of emotion into it?"

He stood as still as a statue, deep in thought, as he clasped his coat together at the front. She moved in front of the fireplace, crossing her arms as she watched him. Beckett finally spoke.

"In retrospect, I don't believe I actually uttered the words—"

"Then what do you expect?" she retorted. "When you wrong someone, you are_ supposed_ to apologize, to _repent_ for your actions. Bloody beg them for forgiveness, if you have to! Put your dignity on the line! And though you _did_ permit me to slap you several times the last time we met, you still did not apologize to me for our rather rocky childhood. That was as close to apologetic as I've ever seen you—and yet you still never actually said the words."

Her brother's face looked tired, eyes heavy and mouth drawn. His eyes no longer looked glassy but he certainly wasn't in any kind of good mood. She watched his shoulders rise and fall as he breathed quietly.

"I don't think I can win her affections again," he muttered under his breath, keeping his gaze on the fire in the fireplace.

"You can begin to try by apologizing to her," Julia replied, her voice strong. "It would certainly be an uncharacteristic thing for you to do, and would probably shock her to the core."

He looked at his sister, her eyes fierce as she instructed him. He badly wanted to change the subject.

"What happened to your neck?" he asked, remembering the large bruise on her neck.

"Nothing," she replied hastily, suddenly looking self-conscious as she wrung her hands.

Beckett stared at her disapprovingly, watching her intently.

"It's really nothing," she continued, rubbing her bruised neck. "There's just been so much stress lately. Thomas—he can't seem to—oh, forget it."

"No, what is it?" Beckett asked, his voice strong again.

"It's nothing. It's just—my husband's plans don't seem to be following through like he thought they would. And he's very angry about it, because if his plans would work out, he could essentially control the sea—but… well, it's nothing I can help, so I give him his privacy."

"He grabbed your neck?!"

So there _had _been a change in her brother. He seemed to be getting angry about this. It was interesting, watching him get protective of her.

"It—really, Cutler, it's not your concern."

"You are my sister and he has no right to commit such an atrocity. Though I have done many wrongs in my life, I would _never_ strike—" he caught himself, remembering the encounter between himself and Elizabeth in the brig of the _Pearl_, "—strike a woman out of anger."

"You don't know the kind of stress he's going through, what with him unable to open the bloody—"

"_I _don't know _his_ stress?" Beckett interrupted, raising his voice. "I was lord of the East India Trading Company, for God's sake," he shot. "I watched Davy Jones disobey my every command, twisting my words so that my orders were never fulfilled to my satisfaction, as every pirate on the seven seas sought to ruin me and everyone who wasn't a pirate aided them in their mission. I probably had a quarter of Port Royal hanged for largely unfounded roles in helping those heathens. I had no allies, no friends except for bloody Mercer, who only sided with me because he was paid to do so."

"Well, Thomas had this job thrown upon him at the untimely death of the former admiral—which made many of his subordinates resent him because they feel _they_ deserved the promotion and are thus being difficult. Not only does he have to deal with those resentful bastards, but he also has to run the entire British Royal Navy—"

"Oh yes, whilst sitting in his luxurious, massive mansion atop this hill, a wife and four children to keep him company."

"It was your choice to never marry—"

"Well, it's not what I want now," he shot back hastily, obviously angry. An awkward pause followed his blurted words, and he immediately felt embarrassed.

"If you'd only let your guard down and make a fool out of yourself in apologizing to her, then you may have a fighting chance. Otherwise, I'm afraid, you're doomed to be alone forever."

His face contorted into a grimace as he realized what had happened. _Damn it. The conversation has gone full circle._

"My point is, he's no reason to strike a woman, least of all, you," he remarked. "I can't imagine what you could've done to warrant such a bruise."

"Did he treat me better when he was a lieutenant? Of course. As beautiful as this place is, I don't like what he's become. Though he, as you say, has us to keep him company, he stays away all day. Sometimes I don't see him for days at a time, but those are the good days. Most days I wish we could return to our life at Hampton House, that he never found the bloody chest—"

She suddenly stopped mid-speech, covering her mouth with a hand, eyes wide. She had spoken out of place. Admiral Morgan did not wish for Beckett to know about such a thing.

"I know about the chest," Beckett coolly remarked. "I've known for months."

"You're putting me on," she replied, becoming quite pale.

"No. I am well-aware that your husband found the Dead Man's Chest but does not have the key and so he cannot open it."

"What a relief," she said, wiping her brow. "He'd kill me if he knew I told you—don't mention that I said anything, alright?"

"Of course I wouldn't do that. Do you take me for a fool?"

"Right now I do, being as your stubbornness in refusing to apologize is going to cost you an obviously important relationship with that woman—"

Beckett rolled his eyes, not trying to hide the fact from his sister. She stopped speaking abruptly, crossing her arms as she flashed him a look of disappointment. A ghost of a smile appeared on Beckett's face.

"If I were capable of steering a ship the way you are able to steer a conversation, Julia, I would have been able to outmaneuver the _Black Pearl_ and the _Flying Dutchman_ and escape with the _Endeavour_ wholly intact."

* * *

I'm sorry for the Beckett-Julia focused chapter. However, Elizabeth, Admiral Morgan, Will, Bootstrap, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, Cotton, Ayla, Joana, Jack, Julia, and Beckett are ALL in the next chapter. Here's a sneak preview of the next chapter:

"Ah ah," Jack said, raising a finger. "Th' last time I followed the remnants of me tattered conscience, I ended up in Davy Jones' locker. An' that's not a mistake I plan on repeating."


	30. Guilt And Honour

A/N: Thanks to all you lovely loyal readers and reviewers that have followed along thus far! I hope you like this newest installment!

* * *

Chapter 30: Guilt and Honour

* * *

"I'm home!" Dr. Stillwell shouted into the dark house, after unlocking the front door. Elizabeth followed closely, holding her baby against her chest.

"It's about time," a voice sounded from another room. A plump older woman wearing a rather drab dress entered the room, noticing the young woman before she even acknowledged her husband.

"An' who's this?" she said, watching Elizabeth with suspicion the entire time.

"This is Elizabeth—Turner, a captive of the pirates aboard the _Black Pearl_. When we captured the pirates in Constantinople, we found her aboard, sick and pregnant."

"I see. Well, she looks healthy enough now. An' I see she's since had the child." Mrs. Stillwell stated, turning her attention to Elizabeth. She didn't like the presence of this attractive young girl in her home, and was suspicious. "Do you have a husband?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, feeling uncomfortable by the woman's obvious disdain for her. Stating that she had a husband wasn't good enough, for it could not explain why she was here at the moment. "But—"

"We can bring ye to him so you can reunite" the medic's wife interrupted. "Where does he live?"

"On the _Flying Dutchman_," Elizabeth stated, awaiting the reaction. Mrs. Stillwell's eyes widened.

"What did you say?" she exclaimed, looking at Elizabeth and her husband, then back at Elizabeth. "Everyone knows that's just a legend."

"Actually, dear," Dr. Stillwell began, "_The Flying Dutchman_ is as real a ship as any other. Surely you know of its role in the sinking of the East India Trading Company flagship—"

"Well, I did hear o' that, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's true—"

"Well, it is."

The doctor's wife paused for a moment as if deep in thought. It seemed as if she was trying to accept the idea that this ship could actually exist. Before long, she turned to Elizabeth.

"You mean, he's dead?" she spat, face already displaying disbelief at needing to utter such silly words.

"He's the new captain of the _Dutchman_, the replacement for Davy Jones."

"Davy Jones then. Is she speakin' the truth?" the woman asked, her voice high as she looked to her husband.

"I don't see why she would lie," he replied. "The captain of the _Dutchman_ did come aboard our ship, asking for her by name."

"Well, if that's true, what did he do when he found her?"

"What _did_ he do?" Dr. Stillwell said, turning to Elizabeth.

"I don't recall seeing him," she said, feeling a wave of anger at his taking the key in secret. "I must've been asleep."

"So he didn't even leave a message with you?" Dr. Stillwell's wife asked her. "Didn't even wake you up?"

"He sort of left a message with me," Elizabeth replied, a sick feeling in her stomach.

"Which was—"

Elizabeth took a deep breath in an attempt to control her rising anger.

"He took back something he had entrusted to me. I don't know why he'd return to Earth simply to do that."

"Certainly that's not the only reason he returned. Hadn't you heard," Dr. Stillwell said, "the Dead Man's Chest has been found. Most likely your husband was called from his duty between worlds when he was made aware of this."

Elizabeth turned white as a ghost.

"You're not being serious, are you?" she stated weakly.

"I'm being quite serious, Mrs. Turner," Dr. Stillwell replied. "Many months ago, the Admiral of the Royal Navy found the chest on a remote island in the Caribbean, but predictably the key was not found with it. When your Mr. Beckett arrived here in Southampton several months ago, he informed Admiral Morgan of the pirates' whereabouts, though all Royal Navy were instructed not to inform Beckett of the development with the chest. Being as Turner was last known to be aboard the _Black Pearl_, Admiral Morgan figured he'd left the key with someone aboard that ship." Suddenly his face went pale as understanding hit him. "Oh my… and that would be you, his wife—"

"I am no longer in possession of the key," Elizabeth replied, voice breaking. "He took it." She stifled a sob.

"He probably took it to retrieve his heart and ensure your safety in the meantime. Admiral Morgan lives in Southampton, so your husband is most likely headed this way in order to retrieve his heart. If I hear word of the _Dutchman_'s arrival, I will alert you immediately."

"He took the key—and said not a word to me," Elizabeth mumbled under her breath. "Didn't he think I could protect it? Why didn't he just tell me what happened, rather than making me believe he was rejecting me as his wife?"

* * *

"So, the _Black Pearl_ is currently floating in the harbor," Thomas Morgan said to the shorter man standing before him. Julia had helped Beckett find some better clothes, thus rendering Beckett to look as stately as ever, with a new powdered wig atop his head, a velvet tricorn hat, a blue velvet coat with beautiful, intact gold buttons, and new breeches, stockings, and leather knee-high boots polished to a sheen.

"Yes," Beckett replied simply.

"And the pirates are imprisoned in the _Intrepid_."

"The most important ones, yes."

"That being—"

"Captains Jack Sparrow and Barbossa, along with their first mate, Joshamee Gibbs."

"Any women?"

"One. Why?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Who would she be?" Morgan replied, ignoring Beckett's question.

"Another pirate. I'm not certain of her name, but you can be assured that I—"

"I know why you're here, but the_ Intrepid_ has not yet arrived, Mr. Beckett. I am sure you were expecting an immediate promotion upon your return, but I cannot be certain you completed your tasks until I see the pirate prisoners. Were there no other women on board?"

"There were two captive women, but they had been picked up during my time as prisoner aboard the _Pearl_. They were both quite ill."

"Why do you feel the need to tell me the timespan these women were aboard?" Thomas said, flashing a dark look at his wife, who stood beside her brother. Beckett noticed this look, and took a quick breath. Admiral Morgan was obviously paranoid that he knew more than he let on.

"I… tell you because it confirms their status as captives. If they had been present before my arrival, then they might have been pirates disguised as captives to fool me during my time aboard."

"I see," Admiral Morgan replied, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "However, there is nothing I can do for you at the moment, Mr. Beckett, until the _Intrepid_ arrives."

Beckett left the room, having expected that sort of exchange between him and his powerful brother-in-law. There had to be some way to gain access to the chest, but Admiral Morgan was extraordinarily paranoid and would probably never leave the room unguarded. And based on what Julia Morgan had told him, it seemed as if her husband himself never left the room.

* * *

That evening, under the cover of darkness, the _Flying Dutchman_ sailed into Southampton. The city was quiet this time of night and a thick fog hung over the harbor, obscuring the rather craggy, identifiable ship of the dead.

"How am I to do anything? I can't walk on land," Will raged, standing at the bow of the ship. His antenna moustache quivered as he stared at the silent city. "And my crew will be identified immediately as the crew of the _Flying Dutchman_. Getting back my heart will be impossible—and if they are holding Elizabeth hostage to draw me back here as well, just the presence of my men will send them into hiding. It's hopeless…"

"We'll look for you," Joana helpfully offered, signifying herself and the living pirates around her.

"'Course, William," Jack added, patting the captain on the back, having slept off the alcohol. "Your heart—an' Elizabeth—is as good as found."

"You mean it, Jack?" William said, hope in his eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

"It's th' least I can do," Jack replied, gesticulating with his heavily-ringed fingers. "Being as you _were_ th' one to originally conjure up th' whole seagull—flock alert thing."

Suddenly Will stepped forward and hugged Jack, forgetting about propriety for the moment. It was an utter relief that Jack had nothing to do with Elizabeth's straying from him, and that he was willing to put their differences aside and aid him in his goal ashore.

"Thank you, Jack," the young captain said with a sincere smile, releasing Jack after the pirate squirmed uneasily in the craggy man's arms.

The crew of the _Dutchman_ moved to the gangplank to lower it for the makeshift search team. Bootstrap Bill arrived shortly thereafter, having left his duty at the helm.

"We're gonna let ye off the ship, an' then we're gonna disappear under the water, lest someone see us," Bootstrap informed the living people who would be departing the ship. "When ye return with whatever ye find, jus' drop a cannonball or somethin' heavy in the water at this spot. We'll know then that ye've returned."

Jack, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, Cotton, Ayla, and Joana gathered their meager belongings and prepared to leave the _Flying Dutchman_. Jack carried with him a couple of bottles of rum found in the brig of the _Flying Dutchman_, glad to be away from the cursed ship.

As the pirates walked down the gangplank, Jack peered across the harbor at the docked ships.

"Could it be?" he murmured under his breath. He took out his spyglass, aiming it at the dark object floating in the water. He could see a winged female figurehead, still intact, staring up at the city. Sections of the ship's hull had been crudely repaired. The sails, though furled, were black. It was Jack's beloved _Black Pearl_.

As Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, Cotton, Ayla, and Joana left the ship, Jack pulled them aside on the dock. He gathered the group into a circle with his arms as they watched the _Flying Dutchman_ sink beneath the waves, Will Turner standing at the bow with a tight-lipped grimace as the ship disappeared before their eyes.

"It seems we are quite fortunate indeed," Jack murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he peered off in the distance. "The _Black Pearl_ is nigh."

"What are yeh talkin' about?" Pintel remarked, squinting his eyes to see across the harbor.

"My ship—the _Pearl_—the Royal Navy has taken her here," he said, flailing his arms animatedly. "An' now I've got meself a crew. Doesn' look like anyone's even guarding it, at this time of th' night. Let's go, men."

"I'm with yeh, Jack!" Pintel whooped, as Ragetti counted on his fingers.

"We've got jus' enough people," Ragetti added, making his way towards the ship.

Jack and the four men began to head towards the _Black Pearl_, but Ayla and Joana remained in place.

"No," Joana announced quite loudly, as the men retreated.

Baffled, Jack whirled around to face his daughter.

"Wot are you talkin' about, luv? She's right there, ripe for th' taking," he added, pointing at the ship. "Not a guard in sight."

"We have a responsibility to Captain Turner," she replied adamantly, crossing her arms. "He wants us to retrieve Elizabeth and the chest."

"That is not a current priority of mine at the moment," Jack replied lazily. He paused for a moment. "Actually, come to think of it, it's not a priority at all."

"Well, I am going to help him," his daughter shot back. "He didn't have to pick you up in the middle of the ocean, where you would have drowned—"

"But he did, wivout reachin' an accord wiv me as to wot he'd expect back. In accordance wiv th' pirate code, I hence owe him nothing."

"It's not about what you formally owe him. It's about honor—about common decency!" Joana shouted. "You told him you would help him!"

"Keep it down, luv," Jack said, moving his hands frantically in an attempt to quiet his daughter. "Do you want us all to end up on th' end of a rope?"

"Can you not show him you can do what is right?"

"Ah ah," Jack said, raising a finger. "Th' last time I followed the remnants of me tattered conscience, I ended up in Davy Jones' locker. An' that's not a mistake I plan on repeating."

Jack also saw that Ayla had balked and was standing slightly behind Joana. He walked towards the two women.

"Now Ayla," he said with a slow voice, ignoring Joana in the meantime. "You know no one. You speak nothing," he told her, shaking his head and attempting hand signals. "Join my crew, an' you can see your Constantinople again."

"Constantinople?" she said haltingly.

"Aye. Constantinople." Flashing her a roguish grin, he held out a hand, which she hesitantly took.

"Father," Joana stated flatly, "are you not going to do anything to help Captain Turner? He told me of all the wrongs you have done to him. Will you never help him?"

Jack sighed, releasing Ayla's hand for the moment. He stepped closer to Joana so that they were face to face.

"I'm a pirate, luv, th' most fearsome pirate on th' seven seas. My enemies cower at th' name of Captain Jack Sparrow. Mr. Turner knows wot I must do to retain my status. Soft-heartedness does not work on th' sea. Even Mr. Turner, once th' most soft-hearted man I e'er met, has changed—an' it's not in th' direction you'd hope. Come wiv me, Joana, an' sail th' seas wiv th' finest pirate crew an' th' clout to do wot you want, as th' daughter of Captain Jack Sparrow."

"I'm doing what's right," she replied, frowning at her father.

"Bugger," he said, disappointment on his face. He paused a moment, then looked at her. "Then I guess this is goodbye," he said simply. "It was a pleasure sailin' wiv you, Joana. I wish you great happiness in th' future—"

"Goodbye, Father," Joana said, coldly holding out her hand for her father to shake. He shook his daughter's hand for half a minute, looking confused all the while.

"If you should so happen to change your mind, you know where to find me," he told her, smiling warmly, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Where's that?"

"On th' _Black Pearl_. I apologize that I can't be more specific, but it is wot it is. Goodbye, Joana."

"Goodbye."

Joana stood alone as she watched her father grab the hand of the Turkish prostitute and stride quickly towards the _Black Pearl_, where it floated silently several dozen yards away.

_Should I alert Captain Turner?_ she mused, looking down at the dark water of the dock, bubbles rising to the surface every couple of seconds. _No_, she decided. _He'd probably kill everyone. I guess it's up to me to find Captain Turner's heart—and his wife. Egh_.

* * *

Accompanied by his sister, Cutler Beckett collected his belongings from Hampton House. Though it had been a wholly inappropriate time for traveling, being that it was nighttime, Julia was glad to escape the house. Her husband wouldn't even notice her absence. Beckett sifted through the various chests of drawers and armoires and amassed himself a pile of his possessions, which he placed into a chest. Now he had a chest full of beautiful clothes and shoes as well as other smaller trinkets he had acquired in his younger years.

"You know, you're welcome to stay here, being as it _is_ what was left us by our father when he passed," Julia remarked, watching Beckett admire the beautifully carved furniture in his bedroom.

"No, Julia," Beckett replied, shaking his head. "I'd like to stay at your home for a couple more days, at least until the _Intrepid_ arrives."

"Going to go after your beloved?" she said, flashing him a devious little smile. Immediately he looked uncomfortable.

"Beloved?" he replied, followed by a scoff, feeling a wave of despair wash over him. "I just want to be sure that I am awarded what was promised me once the prisoners arrive."

After he had the chest full of belongings brought out to the coach with him, Beckett entered the coach, followed by Julia. They sat in uncomfortable silence while waiting for the coachman to load his luggage.

"Where do you plan on going?" she asked him, finally breaking the silence once the coach had begun to move again.

"I don't know. Probably out to sea again."

"You always hated the water," Julia replied. "Used to make you sick to your stomach just going out in a rowboat."

"I eat ginger now. It prevents the feeling."

He couldn't help but think of Elizabeth at this point, one of the first encounters he had had with her alone, finding her in the brig of the ship feeling ill with morning sickness. For a countless number of days he had brought her ginger tea in the morning in her cabin to assuage her nausea. His relationship with Elizabeth, it seemed, was greatly aided, if not actually made possible, by his seasickness and the ginger he carried with him. _Though it greatly aided in helping her warm to me, ginger certainly couldn't win her affections now…._

"Are you alright?" he heard Julia ask.

"I'm fine," he replied curtly. "I was just thinking."

* * *

Once Beckett and his sister arrived back at the admiral's house, she brought him to his room for the night and had the servants carry up the chest with his belongings. Julia stood in the room, even though it was clear that he wanted to settle in and get to sleep soon.

"Goodnight," he said to her, after sifting through the chest for the third time in patiently waiting for Julia to leave the room. It was unnerving, watching her stand there, a troubled expression on her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she suddenly replied, looking like she had been startled. She looked around her as if waking from a dream. "I'll leave you to your—"

"What's wrong," Beckett asked blandly.

"Nothing," she replied. "It's just—good to see you again, that's all."

"Ha," he replied flatly. "I am dull company. You're not a very good liar, you know. What's really wrong."

"I'm just afraid that if he doesn't get the key soon, my husband will go utterly mad," she replied. "Every night he becomes more and more agitated, when I'm able to see him."

"Ah," Beckett replied, feeling pity for her. "Well, since that's the case… you can stay here, if you wish." The words were difficult to say, being as he didn't actually mean them. He just wanted to change out of his clothes and go to bed in his nightshirt. Having her there would certainly complicate things.

"No, I've infringed upon you long enough," Julia muttered, moving quickly to the door. "Sleep well," she said softly, closing the door behind her as she left.

To stop her would be the proper thing to do, but Beckett badly wanted his privacy. Once he was certain she was gone, he changed his clothes and got into bed, thinking of his next strategy. _There has to be some way to get Morgan away from that room_, he thought. _But what? And if he were to leave the room unattended but locked, how would I get in?_

* * *

A/N: Concerns about characterization? Gaping plot holes? Comments or questions? Please let me know via review or PM! Thank you for your continued interest! :)


	31. Running Errands

Thank you to all who have kept this story afloat, all the readers and reviewers, and all who just like to peek at a chapter now and again. I've gotten over a rather annoying hump in the story that I changed several times. Just didn't like how it read, and it was rather crucial for the story, so my updates should be more frequent. Thanks again, everyone!

* * *

CHAPTER 31 - Running Errands

Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the _Black Pearl_, feeling the smoothness of the wood handles as he steered his ship down the English Channel. The dreadlocked pirate captain felt rather protective of his ship and didn't want to relinquish control to someone else for the time being. He was enjoying this moment of freedom, especially considering such a state of being was hard to come by for a pirate these days.

Certainly he was leaving Elizabeth behind, as well as Mr. Gibbs—if indeed he had survived the capsizing of the _Intrepid_—but surely he'd be encountering them again. It certainly was as if the world was shrinking and nothing seemed impossible anymore. _If Joana wants to run across me again, I think it best she accept her pirate bloodline_, he mused, convincing himself of his correctedness in leaving her behind._ What is it wiv that generation bein' so against pirates? Th' whelp an' now me own daughter. Would've never thought. Bugger. _

"Where are we goin' next, Cap'n?" Marty asked him. His thoughts interrupted, Jack looked down at Marty, the little man's face twisted in a sort of scowl.

Grinning with the true spirit of freedom, Jack opened his compass, which spun around a couple of times, eventually pointing to—directly behind them. Jack frowned at the compass, shaking it about in his hand. He looked down at the rum by his feet, shrugging before he promptly swigged down the final bottle in one giant gulp. When he checked his compass again, it still pointed towards Southampton.

_Probably th' lack of pleasurable company_, Jack thought, remembering the countless encounters with the whores of the free ports. There would've been no such luck in Southampton, where Royal Navy and all sorts of British military roamed in search of crime, and so he hadn't even considered trying. With enough coin he might convince Ayla to engage him in that much-missed pastime.

"I wager I shall have to refer to my charts for a heading," Jack replied. "I suppose I should look at them at some point. Fetch Cotton to man th' helm," he said dismissively to Marty. He ran a finger tentatively over the case of the compass at his belt. _Though this piece of stinking metal an' glass is worth so much to so many, all fools at that, sometimes I wish I had a simple working compass…_

Once Cotton was at the helm, Jack proceeded downstairs to his captain's quarters. What he found there shocked him. All of his possessions were strewn everywhere, his cabin reeking strongly of rum and the floor littered with broken glass. Every one of his chests was overturned, their contents, namely rum and articles of clothing, were spilled across the floor. There was no sign of jewelry or weaponry in the mess, which made it clear to him the Royal Navy had confiscated everything of immediate value. Every single rum bottle he had stashed away was broken.

"Those grimy scabrous bilge-rats," he muttered under his breath, kicking a broken bottle out of his way. "Why is the rum always gone?"

The overpowering scent of rum in his cabin made him thirsty, but he found not one intact bottle in the mess of chests, broken glass, soggy paper, and clothing. He then remembered his other intention for coming to his cabin, and began digging feverishly in the chests, slicing his hand open on more than one occasion on the shards of rum bottles at the bottom of each chest.

"Bugger, where the bloody hell is it," he murmured, focused on finding the map. It was his greatest treasure at the moment, the elusive map acquired from Captain Sao Feng. How could the Royal Navy have known the value of a map consisting of circles and crudely drawn images? They had been in Singapore themselves and hadn't even been aware of the existence of the important treasure.

After several minutes of a rather painful experience, what with all the fresh slice wounds on his hands being infused with alcohol as he dug in each chest, Jack gave up looking for the map. He cursed under his breath at his misfortune.

"I've got to get it back," he spoke aloud to himself. _Otherwise, there's no way I'll be able to go anywhere of real value._

Shortly thereafter Captain Sparrow appeared back on deck of the _Black Pearl_, looking irritable as he paced quickly back and forth.

"We've got to come about," he shouted to the crew, blazing past the four men standing at various stations on the ship. "Back to Southampton, men!"

Pintel and Ragetti, the nearest crew, only gaped at him, frozen in place.

"Well, wot are you waiting for?" Jack added, raising his voice. "Tout de suite!"

"Why, if I may ask," Pintel ventured to say.

"No, you may not," Jack replied curtly. Quickly he strode to the helm, where Cotton was standing, ever-so-slowly turning the wheel.

"You heard my orders, did you not?" he asked the mute man.

Cotton nodded, continuing to turn the wheel. He looked as if he wanted to ask Jack a question, but couldn't, for obvious reasons.

Meanwhile, Ayla stared out at the sea, realizing that the ship was turning around. She immediately turned to face Jack, eyeing the captain on the helm furiously. Without delay, she strode quickly across the deck up to the helm, where Jack was standing by Cotton.

"Why," she spat, face bright red with anger.

"Why wot? Or are you starting to learn th' alphabet?"

"Why," she repeated again, flailing her arms about her, then moving them in a U-shape.

"Oh," he replied. "Why are we turning about, you ask."

"Why… turning."

"Because I am currently wivout a very important thing."

"Wot," she spat, imitating his accent of the word, putting her hands on her hips.

"Wot am I wivout? That would be a map. You know, it gives us a heading—" he said, wildly gesticulating, "—a direction to go."

"Go Constantinople!" Ayla yelled with ire.

"Aye, luv, the purpose of th' map, which is currently not here."

"Ugh!" she replied, disgusted, turning around and leaving the helm as she headed below deck. Jack looked amused for a moment and turned to his helmsman.

"You know, Cotton. I mean no offense, but she can speak more words of English than you."

Cotton shrugged with a half-smile on his face. Though his map was gone, Jack couldn't help but smile in return. It _had_ been the first time she had said something understandable, besides her name, of course. Even so, his thoughts quickly returned to the matter at hand—the location of what was formerly Sao Feng's map. Who could have known of its value?

* * *

Elizabeth lie in bed that night, a small makeshift cradle next to her containing her infant son. She was wholly unable to sleep, what with the child crying every half-hour or so in a sort of troubling gurgle. During those times she'd relight a candle and pick him up, putting him to her breast.

_Ugh. How many nights am I going to have to do this_, she mused, gently rubbing the fuzzy head of her baby. _I'm not used to being alone like this._ In the silence of her room, her mind wandered to thoughts of Cutler Beckett, though she attempted to think of Will instead. For some odd reason, she couldn't help wondering about the man who had been her companion these last several months, as much as she ought to hate him at the moment.

_I wonder what Beckett's doing right now. He probably went back home to boast and brag about his conquest over the pirates. More than likely he'll be promoted for all he's done with the pirates—but then again, Dr. Stillwell said that he would no longer be a member of the Royal Navy. If that's so, will he try to work for the East India Trading Company once again? Bloody hell. It seems as if he's come full circle. I was completely wrong about him._

It was good to be away from the sea for the moment, for dry land was quite stable and there was no fear of capsizing in a storm. Even so, the sort of stuffiness, the closeness that a ship forced onto her passengers, was missing. Elizabeth pulled her child back from her bosom and looked at him. The traces of hair on his head were dark like Will's hair, his eyes slate blue and half-open. His skin was still quite pink and limbs skinny. _I thought babies were supposed to be fat_, she mused, encircling his thigh with her thumb and forefinger. _Well, it may be because he arrived earlier than expected._ _But how the bloody hell did Will not notice my pregnancy, or at least that I had a swollen stomach, when he entered my room to take his key? _

* * *

"Bugger bugger, bugger," Jack Sparrow muttered under his breath, nervously pacing about on the deck of the _Black Pearl_, his figure illuminated by the sliver of sun emerging from below the horizon. The _Pearl_ was solidly in English waters now and would be seen by any ship leaving the harbour at daybreak. He didn't want to waste any more time by waiting until nightfall to return, but he didn't want to put his ship or his crew at risk by sailing back into the harbour.

"Cap'n," Marty said to him, blocking his path of pacing. Jack looked at his crewmate, saying nothing. "We should be arriving at Southampton harbour within the hour."

"Oh," Jack replied, his attention only half on the matter at hand. In an hour the sun would have fully risen, and a moving ship, never mind the striking appearance of said moving ship, would easily be spotted.

"Can you be more specific in your estimation," Jack replied. "Is it more likely that at our current speed of travel we will arrive in an hour—" he said, wetting his finger and sticking it out, "—or perhaps in less time, given my wager that th' wind may soon be in our favour?"

"Uhh…."

Jack didn't give Marty a chance to respond, immediately heading to the helm. If it were possible to reenter the harbour _before_ the sun had fully risen, it would be as if the ship had never left the harbour, and perhaps then there'd be no suspicions aroused, and he could retrieve his map without fuss. Cotton stood at the helm, Ragetti nearby adjusting his eye patch.

"Make haste, Cotton," Jack told his helmsman. "We must return to Southampton in less than an hour. It will be as if we'd never left."

Cotton looked simultaneously confused and suspicious but remained silent. Cotton's parrot flew over to his shoulder, cackling quietly.

"Ah, you wonder the reason for my return," Jack replied. "I am wivout a heading—" he said, touching the compass at his belt very briefly as if it had burned him, "—an' a map."

Ragetti stepped forward, his face inquisitive.

"But I thought we was headed back 'cause you felt guilty for leavin' your daughter an' not helpin' Cap'n Turner—"

"In assuming that to be th' reasoning for my return," Jack cut in with a toothy smile, "you forgot another consideration, mate."

"What's that?"

"I'm Captain Jack Sp—"

The statement was interrupted by Cotton's parrot depositing some bird matter on Jack's shoulder as he took off from Cotton's shoulder, flying towards the bow of the ship. Jack looked at the white mess on his coat and considering shooting the bird. He then realized to his dismay that only Jack the monkey was immortal, and that Cotton would probably refuse to man the helm again if he killed his parrot.

"Sparrow!" the bird shrieked, landing somewhere out of Jack's sight.

* * *

Joana aimlessly walked about Southampton, unsure of who to ask about the Dead Man's Chest or the location of Elizabeth. It seemed that Royal Navy sailors were everywhere, but it was frightening to ask about such an important relic of the sea, what with her obvious accent. The harbour area was teeming with men in uniform, so she remained close to the docks, only slightly able to notice the absence of the _Black Pearl_ in the early dawn. She decided to approach her first Royal Navy man, a man of short stature and slight build. A rather unintimidating man with whom to begin her questioning.

"Excuse me," she said, walking more quickly so that she strode beside him, "but you didn't happen to just return from Constantinople?"

"No—why do you ask?" he replied, stopping in place. She stopped as well.

"I am looking for someone who was on that voyage."

"Ah, I see. Well, there were a handful or two of Royal Navy who went on that voyage. Some have not yet returned. They should have been back yesterday."

"Thank you," she finished, moving away from him. In the next hour she had spoken to half a dozen other men who knew less about the voyage than did the very first person she approached. Disappointed, she strode into town to get something to eat. Certainly there had to be some kind of bed and breakfast open at this hour….

* * *

Cutler Beckett awoke shortly before dawn from a troubled sleep. Several times in the night he had awoken at recalling the tasks he had to perform before he was to rendezvous with the _Flying Dutchman_ or perhaps even the _Intrepid_ and its infamous prisoners. _I may as well run my errands before everyone else awakens. If I remember correctly, advanced age is practically a prerequisite for inclusion for the high court. And those old buggers love to begin their workday ludicrously early. Come to think of it, it may be some sort of torture for the prisoners being tried, their being forced to rise so early to defend themselves. It's no wonder most are found guilty—they probably fall asleep during the proceedings. I do recall seeing the heads of the high court breaking their fast as early as six in the morning in local high-society establishments. They're easily recognizable, of course, by those ridiculously pompous wigs—in fact, they look much like Governor Swann in that regard…._

Pulling on the same clothing that he had worn yesterday to meet with Admiral Morgan, Beckett refrained from acquiring any breakfast, instead making a beeline for the servant's door at the rear of the building. This would ensure that he'd be less likely to be seen. From there he could easily borrow a horse from the stables and be back within the hour.

"You're up rather early," the groom muttered with utter grogginess, having been startled from his sleep against a barrel of water by the door of the stables when Beckett cleared his throat loudly. "You're Mrs. Morgan's brother, are you not?"

"Yes," Beckett replied with impatience. "I need a horse."

"Any preference?" the youth asked, standing up and dusting off his hay-covered trousers. "We've got two good bays, a white—"

"I'd like one of your fastest. Preferably bay, chestnut or black."

The groom looked confused for a moment, but went to fetch a horse matching Beckett's requests. Beckett had specifically requested a horse of a dull colour for his early morning trek.

After several minutes, an already saddled and shod bay mare was brought to Beckett by the groom. He allowed for the youth to hold the mare by the reins as he climbed up into the saddle, his slightness of height giving him no disadvantage in mounting the horse. With a nod of gratitude to the youth, Beckett urged the horse into an immediate trot.

"Isn't it a bit early to race?" the young groom asked, disturbed by the man's haste, but Beckett was oblivious to the remark.

* * *

Keeping herself within view of the harbour, Joana was able to successfully acquire some rather bland scones from a local bed and breakfast, the only business that seemed to be open at this early hour. She returned to the docks with renewed hope that she would receive more information on the location of Captain Turner's treasured possessions.

A man bedecked in plainclothes seemed promising, standing by the dock and gazing out to sea. After all, when the Royal Navy had commandeered the _Pearl_, they were all in plainclothes. He wore a tricornered hat and seemed to be intent on the arrival of something—perhaps the second Royal Navy vessel containing the other pirate prisoners, namely, Barbossa and Gibbs. As she approached him, she noticed that he looked angry. His hairy bare arms were crossed and it looked as if he was slowly shaking his head. Perhaps she should turn back, but she was already next to him….

"Pardon, but did you return from Constantinople yesterday?" she said, speaking slowly in an attempt to hide her accent.

He abruptly stopped staring out to sea and looked at her.

"Why do you ask?" he asked, uncrossing his arms and frowning at her. It was odd that such a young girl bedecked in a rather fancy, albeit ruined dress, had spoken to him so directly, and about such an interesting subject.

"Because I am looking for someone who went on that voyage."

"Who in particular?"

"No one in particular. I just have a question for whoever returned from Constantinople."

"An' what would that be?" he ventured carefully.

"I want to know where they took the pregnant woman," she replied, feeling her stomach flip at her being forced to mention Elizabeth.

"Well, she's no longer pregnant, but she's—"

"What?" Joana blurted, the blood draining from her face. _Oh my God; she lost the baby_, Joana thought. _Granted, she _is_ quite a lousy wife, but no one deserves that—_

"She an' her infant are currently residin' at the Navy medic's house. Not sure why she didn't go with her fiancé, but—"

A wave of relief, tinged with annoyance, washed over Joana. So the infant was alive and had since been born. Captain Turner would be happy to hear such news. But what was this fiancé business? Will and she were _married_, not engaged. Were Beckett and she betrothed?

"Pray, where does the Navy medic live?"

"Oh, well, that's easy," he replied, turning towards the village behind the docks. He pointed towards a group of small cottages. "It's right over there."

"Where?" Joana asked him, realizing that he could be pointing to about half a dozen houses from this viewing angle. And unfortunately, they all happened to look identical.

"Which one?"

"Ha," he coughed out. "Rather difficult to distinguish them from each other, eh? I do believe it's the one on the—"

"Who is the woman's fiancé?" Joana asked him, already knowing the answer. She'd find out about the location of Elizabeth after she found out the extent of her betrayal of Captain Turner.

"Ah, well, that would be Cutler Beckett. Something must've happened between them, being as he didn't even help her off the ship. Just took off, most likely for his family home, though he's not there now. The bastard should've been shot on sight, daring to appear again in English waters. He'll be dead soon enough, I imagine."

It amused Joana to hear this from a man who obviously despised Beckett. She almost smiled, but then remembered her question.

"Where would his family home be?" she implored, keeping her face expressionless. "And why do you think he's no longer there?"

"You ask an awful lot of questions. What is your reasoning for all these questions?"

"Uh—" Joana began, feeling her face reddening. She had to think of something—fast.

"Because I am his fiancée's—sister."

"Oh really," he replied, looking mildly amused. "You look nothing like her, save for your build, perhaps. Did you grow up somewhere else?"

"Pray, where is Beckett's birthplace?" Joana asked, ignoring his question.

The Royal Navy officer turned to face the jutting cliffs along the harbour. He pointed in the general direction of the top of the cliffs.

"It's at the top of a hill," he replied. "Overlooking the sea, on a cliff. Not sure exactly which cliff it's on, but you won't find him there—"

"Where will I find him then?"

"The bloody bastard took it upon himself to sail off with the _Black Pearl_," he growled, a deep frown on his face. "Can't imagine what redeeming factor Admiral Morgan saw in him, letting him accompany us to Constantinople if only to capture a few measly pirates and to retrieve his fiancée. He must've had something very enticing to offer whoever was foolish enough to accompany him."

"It was here?" she asked, feigning disbelief.

"We all came back on it. Was docked right there," he told her, pointing to an empty area along the dock. "Now it's gone, an' Beckett has off an' disappeared."

"There may be some perfectly good reason why it's no longer—"

"He took it, plain an' simple. Likely he paid off some poor fools to man his ship, an' took off as soon as he had enough of a crew."

"Why not pursue the _Black Pearl_ then?"

"It was only a matter of minutes before you arrived that I noticed her absence. Being as I merely served as crow's nest lookout for the Royal Navy, I possess no clout to tell them to pursue. However, I am counting on the returning _Intrepid_ to blast Beckett _an'_ that cursed ship out of the water!"

"He is a much-hated man, and for good reason," she spat bitterly. "I thank you for your help, Mr.—"

"Bullock," he replied. "John Bullock. You're welcome—what's your name, Miss?" he suddenly said.

"Joana," she replied with a little smile, realizing every accented word she spoke betrayed her supposed relation with the clearly English native Elizabeth. "I must be going. Good day, Mr. Bullock."

"Would you like me to accompany you to the house?" he asked, stepping away from the dock. Her jaw dropped at the offer. Was he suspicious of her or was he merely trying to acquire more information from her? Joana's eyes turned to the horizon as she attempted to figure out his reasoning. A ship was approaching from afar, barely noticeable in the beginnings of daylight. A ship with black sails fully filled with wind.

"Of course," she said, taking his arm as she led him away from the docks and towards the medic's house. "You never specified which one it was, anyway." With each step, however, she became less and less certain of what she would say. How would she get Elizabeth to leave the house? How would she alert the _Dutchman_ when she had fetched Elizabeth, being as it was now daybreak? What if John Bullock turned around?

* * *

Beckett returned with his quarry less than an hour after leaving the house. The bay mare he rode was quite sweaty by this point, practically panting with exertion, as he rode the animal back into the stables. He noted that the groom had fallen back asleep and so quietly put the animal back into its stall without waking the youth. As he walked through the servants' entrance at the rear of the building, he could hear the sound of servants working in the kitchen, preparing breakfast with practiced skill. Thankfully when he reached the hallway to his bedroom, no one had yet awakened. Closing the bedroom door silently behind him, he folded the piece of paper with its copy and tucked them into his boot with the key to the Dead Man's Chest.

_I should have put the bloody note in my boot in the first place_, he mused, realizing how completely different the situation would have been if he had just taken an extra moment to conceal his father's letter from Elizabeth. _If my sister knew about my possessing either of these items, at the very least she'd evict me from her home._

The strange map he had found in Jack's cabin was far too large to fit into his boot, but he had learned of the best way to hide it with no suspicious lumps or swellings. _And now that Elizabeth is gone, I've no fear of anyone discovering it. Unless I am stripped, of course..._

Being as it was still rather early and was still several hours before the masters of the house would awaken, he changed back into his nightshirt and crept into bed, feeling quite smug.

* * *

"We've still got the darkness on our side," Jack Sparrow said aloud, more to reassure himself than anyone else. He could see the dim lights along the dock, the figures of shadowy people striding along the deck. "I shall send all crew out to retrieve the map, in th' meantime remaining wiv th' _Pearl_."

"You know, Jack; bein' that Beckett's somewhere in Southampton, he's a sitting duck waiting for you to exact your revenge," Marty commented, leaning on the gunwale as they drifted into the harbour.

"Oh," Jack suddenly said. "Wot if he were th' one to take th' map? I hadn't thought of that."

"It's possible, Cap'n."

"Once th' bonny _Intrepid_ arrives in Southampton—though doubtful in an' of itself—th' Royal Navy will certainly see that he has failed to redeem himself. All he caught were Barbossa an' Gibbs, hardly worth th' effort. His execution is imminent. Which means th' map must be acquired before he is rendered dead an' thus incapable of divulging th' location of said map."

"Ah, that makes sense," Marty replied, leaving the bow of the ship to begin working on the lines. "Don' ye worry; we'll find the map for ye, Cap'n."

"An' _if_ th' map is on Beckett's person, once you have taken the map from him, I advise you to—though he make beg like a beaten dog—ensure that his life does not continue from that point on."

Jack watched men and women walking about in the dim light of the early morning, most likely stumbling home from local taverns or brothels. No one would believe a drunken townsfolk claiming that the commandeered _Black Pearl_ had returned less than half a day since its departure. His men quietly secured the ship to the dock in precisely the same place it had been the day before, and with his hushed instruction, they set forth to Hampton House to retrieve Sao Feng's map. Townsfolk walking by did not so much as give the _Pearl_ a moment's notice.

"If you do not find the map or Beckett for that matter at the locality I have specified, I'd next try th' Admiral's estate. An' don't worry, ye can't miss it, if it's indeed what I remember."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Pintel replied, giving Jack a little salute. He, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton headed off the ship, leaving behind Jack and Ayla. Shortly thereafter, Jack and Ayla had disappeared below deck, and it was as if the _Pearl_ had never left the harbour.

* * *

Elizabeth was awoken by a bustling throughout the house. It was still quite dark outside, and she could faintly hear Dr. Stillwell speaking to someone in the next room. Suddenly there was a knock at her door.

"Miss Collins," Dr. Stillwell whispered through the door. "Someone here to see you, Miss."

"What?" she muttered, voice thick with sleep. Stumbling about in the dark to get out of bed and straighten her nightgown, she approached the door hesitantly. Who could possibly know of her presence here that would need to reach her at this hour of the day? Oh, God, could it be Beckett? But then, why would Dr. Stillwell have called her Miss Collins, being as her true identity had already been revealed?

After pulling on shoes as well as slipping an overcoat and a pair of ill-fitting breeches over her nightgown, she opened the door to find Dr. Stillwell, standing in the way of what looked like a woman and a man near the door. He moved out of the way in order for her to see the visitors.

"Hello!" Joana said, feigning excitement. She couldn't help but notice that Elizabeth was going by an alias and wondered why. "It's been so long, sister!"

"Hello," Elizabeth replied, slight confusion in her voice. "When did you arrive?"

"Oh, just last night," Joana said, feeling odd speaking to Elizabeth in such a way. She was not aware of Elizabeth's entire alias, in which she may have went by a different first and last name, and so elected not to call her by any name.

As Elizabeth walked slowly towards Joana, she noticed that one of the Royal Navy men aboard the _Black Pearl_ had accompanied her.

"What's going on?" Elizabeth asked, stopping in place, her voice softer and rather timid. Joana could see that Elizabeth was unnerved by the presence of this man.

"What do you mean? This is Mr. Bullock—a crewmember aboard the ship you were on. He told me where I could find you."

"Oh," Elizabeth murmured, feeling self-conscious. She wasn't sure exactly what Jack's daughter was doing here, or even how she had gotten here, but she couldn't ask any sort of question in front of the Royal Navy men.

"Come with me," Joana offered, stepping away from the Royal Navy man with her. "I have some important news."

Elizabeth looked at Dr. Stillwell, who watched her with a mixture of suspicion and confusion.

"I should go, Dr. Stillwell," she said quietly. She looked back at baby Will, who was still asleep.

"Leave him," Joana said, her voice etched with a sudden coldness. "You can return for him later. I gather the people you're to meet will scare him to death."

"But certainly _someone_ would want to see him."

"The people we are to see will have to remain here until _something_ is retrieved, so you'll have your chance. Besides," she said, craning her neck to see the tiny bundle, his face a dark pink as he slept, "he looks a bit frail for trav—"

"Fine," Elizabeth replied exasperatingly. She turned quickly and walked into the room with her child, watching him sleep peacefully. Waking him now by carrying him out of this comfortable home would disrupt whatever sort of sleep schedule he had taken up, and would make him terribly fussy. She winced at the thought.

Joana stood by the doorway, in all honesty wanting Elizabeth to have less of a bargaining chip with her when she finally saw Will again. If Elizabeth brought Will's baby aboard he would either melt with joy or refuse the child as Beckett's. Based on his sickeningly sappy devotion to his unfaithful wife, most likely it'd be the former. _Besides_, she told herself, _the baby is safer here than on the_ Flying Dutchman.

"Is it alright if I leave him here for a little bit?" Elizabeth asked Dr. Stillwell as she departed her room, already feeling overwhelmed by the high level of care she had to provide for this infant continuously. She wanted to be free of distraction in her reunion with her husband, when she'd finally understand why he came aboard her very ship without speaking with her.

"Alright," he replied with a sigh. "Will you be returning later today?"

Elizabeth looked at Joana and before she could receive any sort of response, verbal or non-verbal, she nodded.

"Yes," she said clearly.

Joana badly wanted to roll her eyes, but resisted. Did Elizabeth know of this return because she was certain Captain Turner would take her back and want to see the child, or because she knew after their reunion she'd be free to live in Southampton again, free from the bonds of marriage to the now-craggy captain?

* * *

Once Elizabeth, Joana, and John Bullock were standing outside of Dr. Stillwell's house, Joana turned to the man who had accompanied her. Off in the distance she could see the outline of the _Pearl_ floating silently in the harbour. She smiled to herself at her father's change of heart, noticing a small group of pirates quietly slinking away from the ship. By the time John Bullock returned to the docks, they would be totally out of sight, safe from harm.

"Thank you for all your help, Mr. Bullock, but we will fare fine from here," she told him.

"You're welcome, Joana," he replied. "And you, Miss Collins," he said, leaning towards Elizabeth, "have you and Cutler Beckett broken your engagement?"

"What?" Elizabeth sputtered.

"I notice you are not with him at present," John Bullock remarked, "though for most of the trip you were inseparable. I hardly saw either of you leave your cabin."

"Well," Elizabeth began, avoiding Joana's intense gaze, "I was just a ploy for him to gain his inheritance. That is no longer."

"I'm sorry to hear that," was the reply. "A manipulative bastard like him never changes. Don't you worry, Miss; his days are numbered."

Elizabeth felt an involuntary chill go down her spine. What had happened?

"Wh—what do you mean?" Elizabeth murmured, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach.

"Several hours after our arrival, he took it upon himself to commandeer the _Black Pearl_, right from that spot over—"

He turned to point to the empty spot along the dock, finding it to be occupied by—the _Black Pearl_.

"Oh," John Bullock said dully. He turned to Joana. "But wasn't it—"

"Maybe some of the Royal Navy wanted to test its seaworthiness," Joana explained, "or make repairs on it elsewhere."

"Well, if Beckett had stolen it, he certainly wouldn't have returned. Odd."

"It must not have been him then," Joana remarked. "Probably some overly enthusiastic Royal Navy."

By this point it seemed that John Bullock had accepted the fact that it couldn't have been Beckett (and certainly no pirate, for the _Flying Dutchman_ was out of sight) and simply stood there, looking a bit perplexed.

"Thank you very much for helping me to find my sister," Joana told her temporary male companion. "We should be on our way now."

"You're welcome, Miss," he replied, again glancing at the ship as he scratched his head.

"Truth to tell, Mr. Bullock, I had hoped Beckett had decided to seal his fate by stealing the ship. Apparently he's slightly smarter than I thought. Good day."

"Good day, ladies," he said, giving them a little bow and then heading away from the harbour. Joana and Elizabeth stood in place and watched him leave, as he walked back towards the village.

After the Royal Navy man had disappeared from view, Joana pulled Elizabeth to the dock at the position where the _Flying Dutchman_ lie in wait under the water.

"So, what did you name the baby?" Joana asked Elizabeth out of earshot of anyone who could be listening.

"I named him William, after his father," Elizabeth replied. "He arrived a bit early, but I am glad to be done with pregnancy. How did you get here? The last time I saw you was in Constantinople."

"Aboard the _Flying Dutchman_," Joana said with a dramatic air. "Captain Turner wanted me to find you. As you know, he cannot come ashore."

"You traveled here on the _Dutchman_? Where is it?" Elizabeth countered, scanning the harbour with eyes narrowed.

"Underwater," Joana replied, pointing downwards. "I don't know if we should call it up now, or wait until nightfall—because if the townspeople see the _Dutchman_, they will—"

"I have several questions I need to ask Will," Elizabeth said huffily. "I've heard rumours about him and I must know if they are true."

"What about Beckett?"

"What _about_ him?" Elizabeth snapped. "I discovered his true intention, to use me for monetary gain. He was to marry me and claim Will's child as his heir and claim his inheritance."

"I just don't understand, how could you have fallen for his—"

"I don't know. The man killed my father, and yet I…." she trailed off. "This is all my fault. I just—I want to see Will!"

"Alright," Joana replied. She moved away from the dock, noticing a heavy link of chain resting several yards away. Within minutes she had dragged the heavy piece of rusty metal to the edge of the dock. Before Elizabeth could ask what she was doing, she dropped the link of chain into the water below.

Nothing happened for a minute or so.

"Why did you do—" Elizabeth began, but was interrupted.

Suddenly the water of the dock shot up as if from a fountain, drenching Elizabeth and Joana in its coldness. The masts and hull of the _Flying Dutchman_ appeared above the surface, its sails fashioned from seaweed, as it had been during Jones' reign. Initially when Will had become the _Dutchman_'s new captain, the sails were rendered back to tattered cloth and most of the thorny projections were eliminated from the ship's hull. The fishiness and unforgiving appearance of the ship were back once again.

Elizabeth stood shivering on the dock, clad in her ill-fitting outfit and attempting to warm herself and gain some modesty, a difficult task in light of the fact that all the garments she had with her had just been soaked by the appearance of the _Dutchman_. She could hear behind her the gasps of townspeople and the sound of fast footfalls across the docks, as people ran away, many on their way to informing the Royal Navy of the presence of the _Flying Dutchman._ Chills ran up and down her spine. The thought of Will as transformed greatly frightened her, and she almost wished she could run the other way, to preserve her memory of him as a handsome young man and not as the craggy embittered Captain of the Those Who Die at Sea. The hulking form of the _Dutchman_ blocked the sunlight that streamed from the horizon, casting its shadow over her and Joana as they stood motionless on the dock. Elizabeth felt lightheaded as she peered up at the bow, waiting for her husband to appear. Suddenly her world went black.

* * *

So the next chapter has Will/Elizabeth meeting! As well as lots of other interactions! There's lots of interesting stuff to come!!!

If you have questions/comments/suggestions or notice something glaringly OOC or inconsistent with the story line, please let me know in a review or PM. I really hate goofs and inconsistencies and I often submit them for movies and tv shows on the Internet Movie DataBase, so I try to be careful with my own stories! Thanks again for your interest!


	32. Reunion

**A/N: See how fast this update came? I'm trying to be better about this….. By the way, did you all know there's going to be another Pirates of the Caribbean film coming out???**

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* * *

  
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**Reunion **

"Call on the officers! Get our men down to the harbour! We must make haste!"

Admiral Thomas Morgan sprinted out of his office and along the corridor, adjusting his clothing quickly as he followed several Royal Navy officers in a mad dash to his front door. Cutler Beckett, groggy with sleep, sat up slowly in bed after hearing the shouts and loud footfalls outside his door. He was immediately curious. Had the _Intrepid_ arrived with Captains Sparrow and Barbossa in tow? If so, what truly delicious luck he had indeed. Redemption was nigh.

"Father, let me go with you!" Thomas Jr. yelled after the admiral, his lighter footfalls moving along the corridor.

"Papa, don't go!" Kitty cried, stopping the chase of her father by his office door.

"This is none of your business, children," Thomas shot back, not bothering to slow down. "I must take care of this matter myself."

"But it's the _Flying Dutchman_!" Thomas Jr. replied, running up beside his father as the older man unchained the door. "I need to see her to believe she actually exists."

"She does exist—and that's all you need to know for the time being," Admiral Morgan told his son in a calmer voice. He instructed his son to go back to his room, Thomas Jr. moving out of earshot as he followed his father's instructions with a frown.

"Do you need anything before you go, Thomas?" Julia asked her husband, her voice thick with sleep as she slowly made her way down the hallway.

"I need you to guard my office," he replied quietly to her. "In about a half hour from now, bar yourself in the room and shake the chest."

"What? Why?"

"Just do as I say. This is very important. Just rattle the bloody thing about for as long as you can."

"Could it be that the captain is coming for the—"

"Enough," Morgan shot at her in a condescending tone. "You do as I say and guard that bloody thing with your life, understand?"

"Fine."

The front door slammed as Beckett crept out of bed, pulling his breeches and boots on. He double-checked his boot for the presence of his paper and metal treasures before wrapping the reedy map around his chest and putting on a shirt and his coat over the strange kind of armor. Noticing no one in the hallway, he made his way to the servants' quarters, where he picked up several food items and returned hastily to his room.

Julia met him by the door to his room, still wearing her nightgown and looking quite dreadful, large bags under her eyes. It was apparent that she was exhausted.

"What's going on?" Beckett asked her, pretending to be oblivious. Without another word, she opened the door to his room and motioned him inside, following him into the room and closing the door behind her.

"It seems that the _Dutchman_ has arrived in Southampton," she replied in a whisper, looking worried. "I have to guard the you-know-what while he's gone. You're up and ready to go rather early, eh?"

"Why didn't he take it with him?" Beckett remarked, ignoring her comment.

"The chest is rather bulky, and as long as he does not possess the key, he cannot actually access the heart. The crew of the _Dutchman_ would simply take it off of him, or kill him, if they spotted it on or around his person. It seems you had much better luck with the heart during your possession of it, though I must admit I pitied Davy Jones to have to take orders from someone else."

"My successful tenure with the heart existed only because I had a rather brilliant commodore who happened to bring the heart to me, with no effort of my own," Beckett replied in a low voice. "Pray, what is the admiral going to do once he sees the _Dutchman_?"

"He has to hold the ship at bay until the _Intrepid_ arrives. Surely the pirate captives aboard will have the key in their possession, and he can use the heart to control the _Dutchman_ and her captain. I must be going—I have to be certain one of the children doesn't investigate that room, not that there's much they can do with the chest. I have been charged with the duty of shaking it about until he returns."

"Why is that?"

"Because it seems to summon the captain of the _Dutchman_, and I imagine it would pain him as well. I rather hate doing such a thing, but it's something I must do to keep pressure on the captain, lest he try to kill Thomas."

"And you wouldn't want that to happen," Beckett remarked, his eyes narrowed as if testing her.

"Of course not!" she replied, immediately looking flustered. "How could you say such a thing? Good heavens; I must be going! I have to begin shaking the chest a half hour from now."

"Why don't you put on a change of clothes and wake up more fully while I stand guard at the office door?" he offered, flashing her a shy smile. "You look quite a sight."

"Thank you for informing me," she quipped sarcastically. "But I will be fine."

"You look like you could fall asleep any minute," Beckett remarked. "I can't let you fall asleep on the job, because if he dies, I will not get promoted."

"That sounds just like you, only helpful when it benefits you."

"Exactly." He was now smiling unabashedly, albeit naughtily.

"Fine. Stand outside the door for a little while. Do not enter his office."

"Yes, because merely laying eyes on it will—"

"You cannot go inside the room," she commanded, face grave. "Please do not test me, or I will not trust you with this duty. Thomas will not allow his own _children_ to enter the room, let alone an opportunistic brother-in-law."

"Point taken," Beckett replied, grimacing.

Brother and sister left Beckett's temporary room, Julia leaving her brother at the door to the admiral's office.

As Julia headed down the hallway in a hurry, Beckett stood with an air of propriety outside of the room, keeping his hands clasped behind him, feet together. When he could see that no one was in the hallway, he attempted to turn the doorknob. The door was locked.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. _There goes my chance._

* * *

"Elizabeth, wake up."

At first the words sounded far away and muffled, but after hearing them repeatedly, Elizabeth realized their meaning. Letting out a moan of pain, Elizabeth opened her eyes one at a time, unsure of what to expect.

She found herself to be lying on a moving surface, for it rocked back and forth. Joana Sparrow was squatted down next to her and was now removing a wet cloth from Elizabeth's forehead.

"Wh-what happened to me?"

"You fainted," Joana commented blandly.

"Where am I?"

"You are aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. Captain Tur—"

"Will?" she murmured, pitch higher than usual.

"Elizabeth," a male voice replied. She craned her neck to see beyond the group of craggy crew members that had gathered in a circle above Joana and her. Will stepped into view. _So Joana brought Elizabeth back for me, though it is obvious that she is not fond of her, _Will mused._ I wonder where Jack went—he had originally promised to help me find Elizabeth and the chest. _

Elizabeth couldn't help but gasp. It was unbelievable what had happened to Will in the course of less than a year. Thankfully his face was largely unblemished, as opposed to Jones's tentacle-ridden face. However, instead of his moustache, he had an antenna between his nose and mouth that seemed to be quivering. Barnacles littered his arms and neck like clumps of graying stubble. A few stray barnacles marred his forehead, though they were smaller than the ones on his neck. He kept his arms behind him, though he was not in the proper position to stand in such an awkward way. One of his legs appeared to hardly fill out his trousers and was clearly unable to bend. Under his tattered bandanna, his hair glistened green like seaweed. He regarded her with a tight-lipped grimace.

"Will," Elizabeth choked out, barely able to speak. "We have a son."

"Oh," Will said dully, suddenly turning away from her, his stiff left leg thudding on the deck as he shifted positions. As he turned, he moved his hands to the front of his body. "And how certain are you of that?" he asked Elizabeth, peering over his shoulder at her.

"It's your son," she said. "It can be no one else's."

All of a sudden a cluster of barnacles popped on the back of his neck, leaving behind normal human flesh. Elizabeth shuddered.

"What is his name?"

"His name is William," she replied without skipping a beat. "Would you like me to fetch him?"

"Where is he?"

"At the Royal Navy medic's home. I thought it best to let him sleep while I saw you."

"When was he born?" he asked, ignoring her offer to let him see the infant. "It has not yet been nine months since we—" he began, but then stopped himself. "He can't be mine," he said, voice low and defeated.

Elizabeth was utterly frustrated. _Is he not going to confront me about my infidelity?__ The one thing I am certain of, the baby that I was absolutely faithful and truthful about, and he doesn't believe me. _After the death of Jack Sparrow and Will's supposing she loved the rogue pirate, he had completely avoided her and the subject, which irritated her to no end. He had never even fully addressed the issue before his impromptu proposal during the battle with the _Flying Dutchman_. Surely he had expected they'd both die in each other's arms that day. _Will had been set on marrying me even without a declaration of love from me, which I never gave him_, she mused. _It's as if he was more intent on possessing me than he was on hearing my confession of love for him. _

"He was born only yesterday, and much earlier than expected," she spat, pulling herself to her feet. Will made no effort to help her. Wincing at the painful sensation on the back of her head due to her fall, she walked over to her Will, moving to the front of him. It was then that she saw his grotesquely transformed hands.

"Will, what happened to your hands—"

"What does it look like?" he interrupted, frowning as he realized the futility of his trying to hide them from her. Now that she had seen his starfish hands, he made no effort to hide them from her.

_I cannot believe he is holding back all the anger he must feel,_ Elizabeth raged_. Obviously he suspects me, wondering if I'm sure of my baby's paternity. How can he stay so bloody calm through all of this? This is utterly infuriating!_

Ignoring Elizabeth for the time being, Will turned to Joana, who was standing nearby.

"Thank you for bringing Elizabeth to me," he asked her calmly. "Where did you find her?"

"She was at the medic's house," Joana replied.

"Where is Jack?" Will asked next.

"I believe he is looking for the chest right now," she told him, hoping that what she said was true.

"Why were she and the child at the medic's house? I expected them to be with—"

"You can ask me that question. I'm standing right here," Elizabeth offered, feeling violated. Now he was going to _ignore_ her?

"Why should I," Will stated blandly, not bothering to turn towards his wife. "I cannot trust you."

"Do you want to accuse me of something?" Elizabeth retorted, feeling ire. "It's unbelievably frustrating to me watching you keep your composure at all times. Have you nothing to say to me, nothing to ask me?"

"Why," he deadpanned, turning around to face her. "Is there something you want to admit?" Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of his eyes, which looked dead, like the eyes of a corpse. It was as if all semblance of human emotion had been taken from him. Elizabeth, feeling her own blood pounding in her eyes, glared at her husband with utter irritation.

"Bloody hell!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I've imagined this moment in my head over and over again, and never did I suspect you'd renounce all feeling, all sense of—"

"I know that you didn't keep the chest safe," Will interrupted, his voice at normal volume. "My heart is now in the hands of someone who seeks to do it harm—when actually, it is only you who can and you who _has_ done my heart harm. Just thinking about you pains me. The only upside of my thoughts of you involve the key I entrusted to you. I trust you still have it…"

* * *

As Beckett stood disappointed in front of Admiral Morgan's locked office, having turned his back to the door once again, there came a noise from behind him, a squeaking of hinges as the door was very quietly pulled open. He carefully peeked over his shoulder to see a child emerge from inside the room. Upon seeing him standing there, his niece Kitty very nearly fainted of fright. Rather than attempt to scare her with a look of disappointment or anger, Beckett flashed her the slightest of smirks, and indicated the direction she could go to leave the area. With a questioning look on her face, she pointed to confirm the direction, her fingers shimmering like silver in the candlelight of the hallway. He nodded to her, a hint of confusion on his face.

"Thank you, Uncle Cutler," Kitty replied with a smile as she stood in front of him, wiping her hands up and down on her nightgown. "Please don't tell my mum that I went in there…."

"Of course not," he countered.

"There's a broken bottle in there," she added in a whisper. "—but I didn't break it."

"I'm sure you didn't," he said with a little smirk.

It was the perfect excuse to enter the room. And if Julia by some chance interrupted him while he was in the room, he had an airtight reason. _'Well, you see, Julia, Kitty entered the room after your husband left, and saw a broken bottle. I felt the need to investigate.'_

Upon entering the room, Beckett saw no sign of the chest. Where could Admiral Morgan have stashed the rather large item? He paced around gingerly, bending over occasionally to peer under a table or chest of drawers.

_Where the bloody hell is the chest_, he mused, anxiously pacing the room_. There are only so many places it could be._

Quickly he ruled out several shallow shelves and drawers in his quest to find the true treasure that would _perhaps_ redeem him in one regard and would certainly condemn him in the minds of all law-abiding citizens.

He opened a rather oddly-placed armoire and saw on the top shelf the Dead Man's Chest. Staring at the door as he felt his heart racing, he lowered the chest onto the ground, pulled the key out of his boot, and unlocked the chest with the key. Footsteps were approaching the door from the hallway around the corner. _Oh, God, surely Julia has noticed my absence in front of the door._ He tucked the bloody item into his coat as he finished up, shoving the key back down his boot and closing the chest as quietly as possible. Within seconds, he had placed the chest back on its shelf and the key back in his boot. If he left now, he could easily make it back out to the door and close it behind him. It was then that he looked down at his hands, noticing little globs of silvery fluid on them. _Where the bloody hell did this come from?_ _This looks like what was on Kitty's fingers._ He opened the armoire back up and looked up at the chest, noticing a little silvery puddle on the shelf it was sitting on, with one or two small blobs stuck to the handles of the chest. _Odd_, he mused. _But __it's far too high for her to reach._

As he looked toward the doorway, a glass tube mounted on the wall caught his eye. It was a mercury barometer labeled with the insignia of the admiral, though the level of the mercury was extremely low, the barometer nearly devoid of the substance. The copper lid on the barometer had been removed, the glass around the lip crunched, presumably during the removal of the lid, which had been set back on top of the barometer, though not pushed back onto the glass lip. It looked as though the tube itself had been removed from its wooden mount, a troubling thought. Kitty had had her hands in mercury, mercury which also contaminated the Dead Man's Chest! Suddenly he felt rather sick to his stomach.

"What in God's name are you doing in here?" Julia fumed, marching into the room with arms crossed tightly across her chest. It was too late for Beckett to wipe his hands off on his coat and so he clasped them behind his back. "I thought I told you not to come in here," she scolded him, much like an insolent child. He thought of his excuse.

"Well, you see, Kitty was—"

"Don't pass the blame to one of my children, you bloody charlatan! How could I have been stupid enough to trust you?!"

He interrupted her with a dramatic sigh, continuing to explain.

"Kitty was leaving the room as I arrived to guard the door, and she seemed to get herself into a rather nasty substance while in the room."

"What are you talking about?"

Beckett pointed at the barometer, obviously fooled with and almost completely empty of mercury.

"I noticed mercury on her fingers," Beckett explained.

"Is that dangerous?" Julia replied, feeling a bit dumb for not understanding Beckett's point.

"Very much so."

Kitty suddenly appeared behind the pair, looking pale and waxen.

"I was getting a toy which rolled under the door, Mum," she said, frowning with disappointment at her uncle. "That's all—"

"Kitty, did you drink out of this glass tube?" Beckett asked her as he pointed at the barometer, feeling a hollowness in the pit of his stomach.

She nodded solemnly.

"But there's practically nothing left in there!" Julia exclaimed. "Did you drink the entire tube, Kitty?"

"No," the child replied quietly. "Just a little bit. There wasn't much in there.… but I don't think I should have done that. I thought it was some kind of water. Very shiny—" she muttered, before losing consciousness.

* * *

**A/N: Arrrrr! I'd be very happy if ye'd review, whether ye be likin' or dislikin' what ye see! There be more to come with Will and Elizabeth!**


	33. Confrontation

**A/N: So I realize now that there is still interest in this story and so I have decided to attempt to bring this story closer to a close. It'll still be several more chapters but it's getting there! There is one thing I know, however: if you want me to continue you must review PLEASE! Because as reviews/interest wane, MY interest wanes! I'm sure you other authors know what I'm talking about! Please, just take a moment to say something, even if it's one or two words! Pretty please!**

* * *

Confrontation

* * *

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth almost shrieked at Will. "You took the key from me—or don't you remember? You came aboard the _Black Pearl_, into my cabin where I lay ill, and took it from me without even waking me!"

"What?" he replied, his eyes coming back to life. "I did no such thing. Granted, I opened the door to your cabin, but you weren't there."

"I assure you that I was there! I couldn't even move, let alone leave during the time you arrived—"

"Well, Beckett was there," Will said with a sigh. "He lied to me and told me you were in Constantinople, when in reality you were somewhere else aboard the ship. You were not in your cabin, and I did not see you then nor did I take the key."

"Then who took it?" she muttered aloud.

"What?!" Will suddenly raged, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. "Are you telling me you do not have the key?!"

"No," Elizabeth replied in a meek voice. "I thought you took it."

"Did _Beckett_ tell you that?" he snapped, antenna moustache twitching wildly.

"I assumed that was what had occurred," she replied, feeling revoltingly guilty. "He _did_ tell me you came aboard—"

"After first stealing you from me, he has now taken the key to the chest," Will muttered, voice low. "And once he acquires the heart, I will be forced to obey the man that has already destroyed my life. Wasn't he blown to bits on the _Endeavour_? How could he have survived such an explosion? Is there no justice in the world?"

"I daresay there isn't," Elizabeth muttered, feeling uncomfortable.

"I am killed after a single stabbing, and bloody Beckett survives an explosion and the certain prospect of drowning. It doesn't make any sense…."

"I rescued him."

"You _what_?" Will practically snorted, his antenna moustache quivering continuously. "Why, Elizabeth? When?"

"I did so shortly before meeting you on the island. I wanted him to pay for his crimes. Will, he wasn't even harmed by the explosion. Not a scratch on him."

"But he would have drowned. Certainly he was knocked unconscious by the explosion. Death is death."

"Not to me."

"Bloody hell, Elizabeth," Will spat, turning away from her. "I lost you the moment I became captain of the _Dutchman_. Have you not an ounce of loyalty to me?"

"When I brought him aboard, I had him tortured him so badly that he wished for death. When we ran into a ship of the line in Curaçao, he saved my life and he apologized, Will. He apologized for his role in the death of my father."

"Oh, so that does it," Will replied, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "So, in order to win you back I have to kill a loved one of yours and then apologize."

"That's not fair—"

"Well, why are you no longer with him," Will asked in a dead tone, crossing his arms as he again faced Elizabeth. "Being as faithfulness to me was out of the picture the moment I was stabbed by Jones, why the sudden change of heart."

"I found out that he was—that he had—"

"That he had what."

"That he was in essence using me to acquire his inheritance."

"And how did you discover this?"

"I found a note that he had been keeping, a note from his father stating that he could acquire his inheritance if he had a wife and… well….." her voice trailed off, as it became apparent that she had admitted her previous level of commitment to Beckett.

"You were in talks to marry him?"

"I thought you took the key," she replied quickly. "I thought you ended our marriage, seeing me ill and taking the key from me, leaving without so much as awakening me to tell me goodbye."

"And then you signed yourself over to Beckett, without attempting to seek me out first? God, Elizabeth! You spent your entire life being independent, rejecting a far-more enticing offer of marriage from Commodore Norrington, and now you're tying yourself down to that cocky, manipulative little bas—"

"I thought all you wanted was the key," she interrupted, trying her best to ignore his last few biting statements, "and that you were essentially ending our marriage—not that I could blame you for that, really. You realize, of course, based on my assumption that you came back merely for the key, I could not seek you out—your duty is between worlds, a place to which I cannot go."

"I never should have trusted you with the chest and the key," he huffed. "Davy Jones knew better than to leave the chest _and_ the key with Calypso. If I had a heart, I would have since ripped it out knowing of your treachery. I wish I had never stabbed Jones' heart and become this—thing." He looked at his arms with utter disgust.

"But then, you'd be dead…." she said, trailing off.

"Exactly—and so unaware of what you have been doing in my absence."

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth replied in a small voice.

"Will you do it again?" he suddenly blurted, his voice breaking.

A long moment of silence passed. He stared at her, feeling his skin crawling as she pondered her answer. Finally she replied.

"I cannot promise I won't."

His face fell, antenna moustache drooping onto the corners of his mouth. A smattering of barnacles appeared on a formerly bare spot on his neck. Though greatly troubled by her admission, Will remained silent.

"Please try to see it from my position," she began to explain. "You have an eternity to spend aboard your ship, an eternity of days to spend on land doing whatever you please. I have only a few dozen years to be alive, and only five days at most to spend with you. I will be there to see you every ten years, if you'll still have me."

"So you'd be willing to sacrifice five days of your life to meet me when I emerge from my duties." Sarcasm and bitterness dripped from his words.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

Standing behind Will, Joana shook her head. Elizabeth was neither admitting she did wrong nor offering to make it up to him in the way he'd want her to do. Joana couldn't help but frown at the thought, because Captain Turner seemed like the kind of man to devote his life to the person he loved.

"Did you ever love me?" he spat, barnacles pulsating on his neck and forehead.

"What?"

"Did you ever love me?"

She sighed, upset that the conversation had resorted to this sort of talk. Will was far too much of a romantic to understand the realities of life and temptation.

"Will, I—"

"Your hesitation answers my question. You've never said it, and now I know why," he remarked, face an ugly red. Bootstrap, who stood nearby, touched his son's shoulder. Will flinched away from his father, a frown marring his features. Elizabeth could not let Will gather his conclusions from her silence, and continued to explain. An anger started to rise in her. She had kept a meek humility about her until now, but his behavior and questions were beginning to ire her quite badly.

"Will, you cannot expect me to devote my entire life to seeing you for five bloody days! Though you claim to be devoted to me, I could not expect you to, and would _not_ want you to forsake your life for me, if I had instead stabbed the heart. If you really loved me, you'd want me to live my life to the fullest."

"So you want me to expect from you what you would expect from me had you become captain of the _Dutchman_," he said, grimacing, as he rubbed his chest with a hand. An ache in his chest caused him to groan quite loudly, as he gaped down at the scarred-over gash over his sternum area.

"What?" she spat, confused by his wording. The sort of sentence he had just uttered was only understandable when Jack said it, being as such a statement was expected by the slurring pirate.

"Attention up there!" a voice yelled from the docks. "Stand down!"

Suddenly Will felt a plunging sensation in the empty hollow that once held his heart. He collapsed onto the deck, Joana immediately squatting down to attend to him. Elizabeth could only stare at him, wondering what in the world had caused him to collapse. No one had shot at him from the docks, and even if they had, he was impervious to worldly weapons.

Joana and Bootstrap helped Will get back onto his feet. The three of them moved to the bow of the ship, looking down at a large group of men that had quietly assembled. All of the men held a musket or sword at his side, gazing up at the _Flying Dutchman_ as they murmured amongst themselves.

"Which one of them has the chest?" Joana whispered to Will. Elizabeth looked down at the ever-growing group of uniformed Royal Navy men, and shuddered. So Beckett had taken the key from her. Had he already given it to the Royal Navy?

"It's that man over there," Will stated, pointing with his starfish hand at a man standing towards the center of the mob, a tall man wearing the most decorated uniform of the group. All of a sudden, another shooting pain went through Will's chest and he clutched his chest, tightly shutting his eyes to fight the pain.

"What's happening to you?" Joana murmured, watching him grit his teeth to keep from yelling out.

"My heart—" he replied with a grunt of pain.

"Ahoy up there!" Admiral Morgan shouted almost cordially. "If you were considering killing me now that I'm in close range, your heart will assuredly be destroyed. I have a proposal to make, and I'd hope that you'd listen intently to what I have to say."

* * *

Beckett was utterly exhausted as they reached the end of the road. Upon Kitty's collapse, he had caught the child, collected her in his arms, and with Julia, ran out of the house and down the street to a doctor of whom Julia was aware. Julia stood beside him, gaping at him with wide-eyed fear, as they knocked on the door of the doctor's house.

"What should we do?" she asked her brother in a frenzy, putting her arms on the child to attempt to shake her back to consciousness, as the child lay in his arms.

"I don't know what one does in response to mercury poisoning," he murmured, feeling utterly helpless, looking down at the paleness of the small girl he held.

Soon a man opened the door of the building, confusedly staring at the pair with the child.

"She ingested mercury," Beckett told him, still attempting to catch his breath.

"We must act quickly," the doctor said, face going grave as he allowed them entrance to his home. He instructed Beckett to lay the child down on the kitchen table, and headed into the kitchen.

As Beckett watched his sister leaning over the child in a near-panic, he touched the lump under his coat. The heart was still beating, albeit quickly and shallowly. Certainly his running down the hallway and gravelly street with the child pressed up against the heart had injured it, but hopefully it was not permanently damaged from the jarring and squeezing sensations it must have experienced. There were more important matters right now than the status of the heart.

"Milk should help," the doctor explained, carrying with him a container of presumably milk and what appeared to be smelling salts. "When did she drink the mercury?"

Julia turned to her brother, fear and anger in her gaze.

"Less than ten minutes ago, I would presume, if she had entered the room after Admiral Morgan left for the docks," Beckett replied.

"She may still be able to be saved, if we can get some of this milk down her throat. Another ten minutes, and it might've been too late."

* * *

"Do you want me to do something?" Joana whispered to Will, watching the man brazenly step forward. "It's as if he has a death wish."

Rather than respond, Will grimaced, clutching his chest as he glared down at the gathering men.

"Captain Turner!" Admiral Morgan yelled from the dock below. "I expect you wonder the reason for the pain in your heart; am I correct?"

"I already know why my heart pains," Will muttered. Frowning, he stole a glance back at Elizabeth, who was surprised by the anger in his eyes.

"If you obey my commands I assure you that you will not be feeling that sort of pain again," the admiral called, his voice jovial.

"Somehow I doubt that," Will sighed quietly, as he leaned against the gunwale of the ship.

It was then that Admiral Morgan noticed a redheaded woman, untransformed and looking very much alive, on board the _Flying Dutchman_ standing beside Will. At this point, Elizabeth was too far aft for the men on the dock to see her. Smiling, he raised a hand to his chin. Could she be the one with the key? Either she had the key and Captain Turner knew there was no way his heart could be destroyed, or she did not have the key. He'd first have to see if the captain of the _Dutchman_ believed his heart could be harmed. If not, then most assuredly this mortal woman had the key.

"Welcome to the beginning of your new life, Captain Turner," Morgan proclaimed. "My first command is that your crew find and kill those enemies of the Crown, namely pirates. However, you needn't worry about Captain Jack Sparrow. We'll be taking care of him and the crew of the _Black Pearl_." He held an arm out to his side, indicating the lonely black ship floating a ways down the dock.

The pain in his chest finally subsiding, Will refrained from wincing and stood straight and tall, glaring down at the assembly. He couldn't help but laugh at Morgan's bluff. Why, it wasn't a couple of hours ago that he had sent Jack and his crew into Southampton to find the heart—and Cutler Beckett. Morgan would surely be flaunting the captured pirates if they were in his possession.

"Right," Will replied to the man, sarcasm in his tone. He turned away, Joana stealing one last peek at the men below before she followed Will.

"What are you doing?" she asked him as they walked aft. "You were in pain. What if he has your heart—"

"I don't care," Will replied. "If they were able to get it out of the chest, they would show it to me, as well as showing me Jack and the others."

Meanwhile, Morgan was alarmed that Captain Turner was walking without being doubled over with pain, walking _away_ from the conversation. Why wasn't Julia still shaking the chest about? What had caused her to stop?

He turned to several men around him, and issued them a command, though not loud enough for the crew of the _Dutchman_ to hear.

"Go to my estate and tell my wife to get back to her bloody job! If she won't do it, then I call on you to shake about the chest until your arms fall off. Get to it! All the rest of you, fire on the _Dutchman_! Now!"

Joana heard the thudding of feet on the dock and ran back over to the bow. Some men in the group, the men formerly closest to Morgan, were heading the opposite way. Others were loading their weapons.

"Where do you suppose they are headed?" she inquired of Will, who acted as if he couldn't care less.

"It doesn't matter," he replied coolly, remaining facing the stern of his ship.

"Aren't you going to send anyone after them, to see where they are going?"

"No."

She turned to Koleniko and Palafico, who refrained from making eye contact with her.

"What's wrong with all of you? Why are you not following them?"

"Tha's Bootstrap's job," Jimmylegs remarked. "I don' feel like bein' gutted like a fish by those bayonets."

Joana turned around, looking for Bootstrap but he was nowhere in sight. Even if she could find him, the men would be long gone before he began pursuit. She glanced at Elizabeth, who had moved towards the stern, looking like the _Dutchman_ was the last place she'd want to be.

"Well, I'm going after them," Joana stated aloud, immediately moving towards the gunwale at the rear of the ship. "Maybe they know where the chest is."

On his way to the ladder to below deck, Will froze in place.

"What?" he said, turning towards the bow. "No, Joana; you can't—"

By that point she was already gone.

* * *

"Wot's that?" Jack Sparrow muttered, awakening from sleep on a hammock in the forecastle after hearing gunfire and small explosions. Being as his cabin reeked of rum that he could not drink, he had decided to avoid the temptation of leaving the ship to seek out rum and thus sleep in the crew's quarters. He noticed upon opening his eyes that Ayla the Turkish prostitute was no longer with him.

It sounded as if the _Black Pearl_ was being fired upon by dozens and dozens of muskets, the yells of the men goading the battle onwards. Even though the gunshots were originating very close to the _Pearl_, no holes were being made in the hull and no shakes of impact were occurring. This perplexed Jack, who rubbed his eyes and promptly fell out of the hammock, scrambling to stand back up in the din of musket shots.

Quietly the pirate captain made his way to a gun-port, shoving a cannon away from the hole in order to peer through it. What he saw surprised him.

The _Flying Dutchman_ was floating in the harbour and was currently being fired upon by a mob of men standing on the dock.

"Why th' bloody hell is th' _Dutchman_ not firing back?" he said aloud. "All it would require is one shot, an' all on dock'd be gone. Dock'd be gone as well, on second thought."

Jack continued to watch the _Dutchman_ as many of the men from the dock continued to load their weapons, moving closer to the looming ship in front of them. Desiring to see more detailed action, Jack pulled out his telescope and stuck it through the gun-port, focusing his attention on the deck of the _Dutchman_. Will stood towards the bow, looking confused, and Jack could see a shock of red hair headed down the side ladder of the ship, largely unnoticed at this point by the men busily loading and reloading weapons.

_Why is Joana leaving the ship? She's going to be shot on sight. Course, th' red hair doesn't help…._

Suddenly his view was blocked by the presence of a dark form moving in front of the _Dutchman_. A large merchant ship sailed into the harbour, docking between the _Black Pearl_ and the _Flying Dutchman_.

"Bugger," he murmured. In the period of time in which he could see nothing of the _Dutchman_, he opened up his compass to find that it spun in a circle without stopping. "Bloody unhelpful," he muttered, putting it away and heading up to the deck while keeping a low profile, a musket in hand.

Jack squatted near the bow with only his eyes and top of his head visible above the gunwale. The merchant ship that had blocked his view of the skirmish by the _Dutchman_ lowered her gangplank. From his new point of view he could again spot his daughter slowly descending the ladder, her thick head of auburn hair painfully visible. He then noticed that a handful of men on the dock had taken notice of the woman headed down the side of the ship.

"Why do women always force me to do bloody stupid things," he muttered, before aiming the musket and firing.

* * *

**A/N: So I've noticed other "M" rated stories being much more, well, "M" rated. Do you want me to tread into a little bit more, shall we say, _detailed_ encounters? If you have any kind of opinion on this story or chapter whatsoever (good or bad) or you simply want this story to continue, please--review! **


	34. Mercury And Lead

**A/N: Thank you so much to all the reviewers who've kept faith in this story, in spite of a new POTC movie being released which kind of refutes this one! I am aiming to finish this one because it is such a work in the making and has bridged three stories and I believe almost 300k words total! I hope that people are still interested in this and I invite you to tell me that you would like to see this finished! I had figured that after the movie came out, no one would read (let alone review) this but I was thankfully wrong! I would cite each of you lovely reviewers but then I'd never get to posting this tonight! Just know that I appreciate you and need you to push me along because I want this to be drawn to a satisfying close!**

* * *

After several tension-filled minutes of utter silence, the smelling salts the doctor held under her nose caused Kitty Morgan to stir. She blinked her eyes, head swimming, her face looking much like a wax doll.

"Open your mouth, dear," the doctor told her. "This milk will help soak up that mercury you drank," he explained to her.

As she lie partially reclined, the doctor made her drink an entire quart of milk, a task that made her utterly miserable.

"If you don't drink all that he gives you, darling, something bad might happen," Julia coaxed. Cutler and Julia stood above the girl, watching the colour slowly return to her face as she continued to gulp down the milk the doctor provided. The three watched her carefully as she was thankfully able to retain consciousness.

"The worst may be behind her," the doctor said, putting a hand to Kitty's forehead, "but you must have her drink as much milk as she can possibly withstand. After that time we can only pray that the mercury she ingested has been soaked up by the milk and hasn't entered her bloodstream."

"Oh, God, Cutler; my baby," Julia said, eyes wide as she looked to her brother.

"She is very lucky that she was attended to quickly," the doctor added, patting Julia's back. "Do you know where she acquired the mercury?"

"She acquired it from a barometer in her father's office," Beckett explained.

"How much did she ingest?"

"Only a few drops, she said, but the barometer was almost completely emptied of mercury. I don't know where the rest could've gone, because there was nothing on the floor."

"That's odd. Do any of your other children go into that room, Mrs. Morgan?"

"No," she replied quickly. "My husband does not allow them entrance to his office. He has been the only person in that room since we moved into the estate."

The doctor wished for Kitty to sit in a more upright position, so he lifted her off the table to place onto a chair. In the process, however, he found several shiny metallic globs on his fingers that had rubbed off from her clothes.

"Did you wipe your hands off on your upper back, Kitty?" the doctor asked her kindly, to which she replied with a headshake. He turned to Beckett. "You carried her in from the estate, did you not?"

"Yes, I did," Beckett replied, feeling extreme discomfort. Evidently, he had gotten some mercury on his hands when handling the Dead Man's Chest, and had then carried the child in his arms without wiping his hands off first. In an attempt to hide whatever guilt would surely appear on his face, he made an attempt to smile.

"Did you have mercury on your hands?"

Beckett received the question with an air of indifference, focusing his gaze on the child to avoid meeting Julia's eyes. It was as if he was attempting to avoid the direct question by ignoring it. All the while Julia gaped at him, realizing the implications of the doctor's words. Could her own brother have poisoned Kitty?

Suddenly Beckett sighed. Slowly he raised his gaze so that it gradually met his sister's gaze. Once they were making eye contact, he set his jaw in a sort of grimace and swallowed rather loudly.

"Yes I did," he answered the doctor, keeping his eyes on Julia the entire time. Her face went from fearful and anxious to ever-increasing intensities of fury.

"And how did you come by this mercury, may I ask?" Julia raged, realizing her brother looked as guilty as hell—an extraordinarily rare occurrence, at that.

"There were drops of mercury on the handles of the Dead Man's Chest," Beckett muttered carefully.

"What?" Julia squawked, glaring daggers at him. "What are you saying—"

"I found the Dead Man's Chest in your husband's office, and I took it down from the armoire. There were drops of mercury on the shelf it sat on, as well as on its handles—"

"What are you talking about? Why in God's name would there be…" She paused dramatically to collect herself. "You're lying, aren't you," she snarled at her brother. "Can you not tell the truth for once in your worthless—"

"Julia," he cut in. "It's true. You can see for yourself upon your return to the house."

"But why—" she began, staring off into the distance, face contorted into an uneasy expression. "You're implying my husband is trying to poison me then!" Julia turned to the doctor, who was all but being ignored at this point. "He wanted _me_ to shake the chest about during his absence today, to harm that poor Captain Jones!" she remarked with ire.

"I don't know about that," Beckett replied, feeling uneasy. He didn't bother to correct her misstatement about Jones. _Best she not realize how much I know on the matter_, he mused._ Now, her own husband trying to kill her? There didn't seem to be enough on the handle for that sort of thing, but I suppose it _would_ be rather difficult to discov— _

"What were you doing holding it?" Julia spat, interrupting her brother's train of thought. "I trusted you not to go into the room, let alone not to go anywhere near the—"

"And I betrayed your trust," he replied matter-of-factly, not skipping a beat. "There is something I must do, and in order to do so, I had to betray your trust. I am sorry for disappointing you."

"What the bloody hell can you possibly _need_ to do, may I ask?" she spat, moving towards him. He made no effort to distance himself from her.

"The woman I told you about," he began, feeling leery around the doctor who pretended to ignore them by attending to Kitty as they argued. "In order to get her back, I have to retrieve—"

"Retrieve what?"

"If you hadn't interrupted, you would have known by now," he snapped, obviously irritated. As a way to further annoy her for interrupting him, he followed his remark with silence.

"Finish what you were saying," she fumed. "You have to retrieve _what_."

Beckett's eyes focused off in the distance. If he admitted this to her, there was a very strong chance he would not be able to leave the doctor's home with the heart, perhaps not even with his life. There didn't seem to be another option, however.

"I have to retrieve the heart," he said calmly and collectedly. It shocked him how smoothly the words came out.

"Ha!" she spat. "Rather difficult without a key, I must say. You must take me for a fool!"

All of a sudden Beckett squatted down, shoving several of his fingers down the side of his boot. As he stood back up, he held the key for Julia to see.

"As if I could believe that is the key to the Dead Man's Chest!" Julia spat with a cruel laugh. "Where could you have acquired such a valuable item? You were the lowest of the low on the _Intrepid_, hardly the individual to have first choice of the treasure!"

Beckett sighed, shaking his head. Was it so hard to believe that he was capable of acquiring a simple key?

"Believe what you want," he stated, hesitant to shut her up once and for all by showing her the heart.

"Well, _I_ rather think that you tried to poison Kitty… After all, you had mercury on your ha—" she ventured, knowing this was not the truth but attempting to get a rise out of him. Predictably, she was interrupted by Beckett, whose face had turned a rather interesting shade of red by this point.

"I may have been a rotten brother to you, but I would never try to poison your child. How dare you accuse me of such a hideous act," he replied, suddenly aware of the pulse beating in his neck. "Kitty was leaving the room as I attempted to enter."

"Is this true, Kitty?" Julia asked her daughter, keeping her eyes on Beckett all the while.

"What's true?" Kitty asked, looking a bit dazed, but well within the range of consciousness.

"That you were leaving the office as Beckett tried to enter."

"Yes, Mum, it is," she said, dropping her head in shame. "I went into Father's office just as Father left the house. When I heard Uncle Cutler turning the doorknob, I got scared and thought it was you, so I started to sneak out of the room. _I_ drank the silvery stuff by myself. You're wrong about Uncle."

Beckett stared at Julia as her look of utter rage faded to that of acceptance. However, after she turned away from her daughter, it seemed as if her glare of fury had never left.

"So you volunteered to guard the door for me in order to get at the chest," she stated simply.

"Yes," Beckett replied curtly.

"You essentially used me then to get at what you wanted."

There was a silence that passed in which Beckett considered the consequences. Whatever happened to him now was a trifle compared to what he'd been through: two sets of lashings, near-rape, near-freezing, near-drowning, near-hangings, near murder by countless individuals, and a gunshot wound to prove that fact.

"Yes," he stated, letting his eyes fall to the ground. He could see with his peripheral vision that her face was quite red now.

"I think you deserve a good hard slap," she spat. "Do you agree?"

A slight pause, as Beckett felt her eyes burning a hole into him. He took a deep breath.

"Yes." He made no move, instead standing perfectly still with hands clasped quite regally behind him.

The slap landed suddenly on Beckett's cheek, a slap so forceful and with such an intense stinging sensation that it caused his eyes to water as he stumbled sideways, arms shooting out to his sides to regain his balance. Julia had certainly put her entire weight behind the blow, that he could tell.

"Don't hurt him!" Kitty exclaimed weakly from her seat at the table. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Yes I did, Kitty," Beckett stated glumly, looking at her with eyes glassy from the involuntary tears that had welled up from his sister's slap. He raised a hand to his cheek, rubbing the hot flesh. "I took advantage of your sister and I lied to her. All the negative things you've heard about me are true."

"So, you said you saw mercury on the handles of the Dead Man's Chest?" the doctor interrupted. "And that there was barely any mercury left in the admiral's barometer?"

"Yes," Beckett answered, wondering why the doctor was asking such questions at such a time.

"I recall the fact that the formal admiral died shortly after handling the Dead Man's Chest."

"And?" Beckett stated impatiently. The doctor ignored him, turning to Julia Morgan.

"Mrs. Morgan, I don't believe that the former admiral died of a heart attack as your husband said."

"What are you talking about?" she suddenly blurted, confused at the sudden change of subject.

"I think your husband may have poisoned the admiral by coating the handles of the Dead Man's Chest with mercury," he explained. "Acute mercury poisoning can cause a heart attack, which coincidentally was the final ruling on the admiral's cause of death."

"Oh my God," Julia exclaimed, feeling faint. "It can't be."

"The Admiral had his successors in mind, and unfortunately, Ma'am, Thomas Morgan was not one of them. I always thought it odd that he would pass his position onto Mr. Morgan, and right before he died, at that—no offense intended, of course."

"But for my husband to murder him?" she cried, the pitch of her voice quite high.

"Once this evidence is brought to light, Mrs. Morgan, your husband will be assured a fair trial, and—"

Julia turned away from the doctor, gripping her hair in utter fear.

"We're ruined!" she wailed as she paced about. "How could Thomas have done such an evil thing? Oh, God help us…."

Beckett sensed that she could collapse at any time and placed a hand on her back to steady her. Rather than accept the help, however, she hissed at him and jerked away from him. Sighing quietly, he used the rejected hand to wipe his eyes, and made a move towards her.

"There's always Hampton House, Julia," Cutler said reassuringly. "I won't be remaining in England for long, and I—"

"I want to see it," she suddenly blurted, turning to face him fully.

"See what," he replied blandly.

"The heart."

"Oh. That," Beckett stammered, struggling for words.

"How exactly is it going to help win her back?" she asked him.

"That's rather easy to answer," he replied, feigning confidence. "I'll have power. Influence. Much more becoming than a battered reputation and a lowly status, I should think." He ended his explanation with a naughty little smirk.

"Ha! A battered reputation and lowly status! Something you have now assuredly granted to my husband and our family now, thank you very much—"

"Wait—I wasn't implying that… Julia, you must believe me… I didn't—"

The doctor took his turn speaking, essentially interrupting Beckett.

"That was _my_ doing, Mrs. Morgan," he told her. "Your brother hasn't been in England for years. How would he have known what had happened?"

Julia rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath as she struggled to contain her anger in front of her brother, her child, and the doctor.

"Let me see it," she insisted, moving towards Beckett. "I won't try to take it from you."

"Alright," he hissed irritably. He stepped further away from the doctor as he fished in his coat for the beating organ. Within moments, he had removed the item from its hiding place and held the rapidly beating heart in the palm of his hand. She stared at it with utter disgust.

"My husband has ruined our family and our reputation over that stupid insignificant—"

"It's certainly not insignificant, Julia," Beckett explained, tucking the heart back into his coat. The doctor eyed him suspiciously as he checked Kitty's pulse.

"How is she?" Beckett asked the doctor.

"Her pulse is normal. It seems as if the milk was administered soon enough to soak up the mercury before it could poison her. She is very fortunate."

"If it weren't for Uncle trying to get in the room, I would've drunk the rest, I think. I heard him turning the doorknob but didn't know the door was locked." She turned to Beckett with a big, albeit tired, smile. "You saved my life, Uncle Cutler."

Beckett's face flushed red but he said nothing. Julia could only gape at him and at her daughter, unsure of what she should do next. Turning in the direction of the admiral's estate, she stared off into the distance, imagining the scenario if she demanded the heart back from her brother. Savior or not, her brother had stolen this important item from her family. Of course, once the murder charges were brought up against her husband, they'd lose control of the Dead Man's Chest anyway….

Without warning, Julia felt someone's arms around her back. She opened her eyes to find herself face-to-face with Cutler, the remainder of the tears conjured from her slap still glistening in his tired eyes, and whose mouth was drawn into a tight-lipped line of discomfort.

"I'm sorry for betraying your trust, Julia," he mumbled, voice breaking. "I have been an absolutely dreadful brother and have not deserved your hospitality."

Instinctively, she returned the hug, feeling him shift in her arms. He was obviously not accustomed to this sort of exchange.

"Hospitality," she murmured. "If you could call slapping you silly 'hospitality.'"

"It's not as if I didn't deserve them at the time," he replied. "What I mean to say is that I am terribly sorry for all that I've put you through," he continued, speaking in a low voice. "I hope that you can find it in your heart to someday forgive me for the countless transgressions I have committed against you."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you'd apologize to me," she said, feeling her eyes water. "But it's no use, really."

Suddenly he pulled back, releasing his arms from around her back and looking at her with a confused expression.

"What do you mean," he replied, his voice thick. Julia looked at him from the very short distance between them. Hurt and shame could be seen in his eyes, certainly the first time Julia had seen those two emotions there at the same time.

"I've already forgiven you, Cutler."

* * *

The man most noticing of Joana's presence lay dead on the dock by some unknown killer. Most of the Royal Navy men on the deck ignored the downed man, continuing to fire upon the _Dutchman_. Unfortunately, one of the men noticing the fallen man, though he was surrounded by a thick crowd of people, was Admiral Morgan, who froze in place, scanning the docks with narrowed eyes. The shot certainly did not come from the _Flying Dutchman_. For the time being, no one on the _Dutchman_ was even visible and no cannons were being fired. It was then that Morgan noticed Joana, standing on the deck, unintentionally cornered by the men on the dock.

Jack Sparrow frowned as he reloaded the musket and aimed again. Sadly, Admiral Morgan was again hidden from being a target. This time Jack shot the next-closest man to Joana.

Admiral Morgan watched the second man fall away from the direction of the nearby ship the _Sallie Mae_, with the _Black Pearl_ off in the distance. The shot had to have originated from that direction, because the momentum had caused the man to crumble sideways. He gathered a living shield around him as he scanned the nearby ships and dock.

Joana Sparrow was alarmed at the fact that she had even been noticed. She had figured the riled-up crowd would be too busy loading their weapons and dreading retribution from the infamous ship to notice a woman disembarking. Now she had at least a dozen men who noticed her, two of whom had mysteriously fallen down dead in the process. She dared not look around her, lest she divulge the location of her temporary savior.

* * *

"Get down, you filthy half-wits!" the captain of the _Intrepid_ shouted at his pirate prisoners. Gunfire exploded all around them as they made their way off the _Sallie Mae._

"Ye've no use fer us in killin' us," Barbossa spat at the men who marched behind him, feeling the occasional poke of a bayonet into his back. "Yer bayonets hold no concern fer me, knowin' as I be worth far more alive."

"That's what you think," the captain of the _Intrepid_ said in reply, shoving the Royal Navy man who held a bayonet to the tall pirate's back. This caused the sharp tip of the bayonet to jab into the shoulderblade of Barbossa, who winced and shot the man an evil glare.

_I hope Jack has been caught an' jailed_, Barbossa mused, spitting onto the dock. _If I see 'im in there, I'm not hesitatin' to kill 'im fer all the misery he's put me through as of late. _After the _Intrepid_ had begun to noticeably sink in the sea, he and Gibbs had been transported to the deck of the ship, freshly bound as they struggled to ascend the ladders to the deck. All the while the ship had lurched and groaned, filling quickly with cold seawater. A single longboat was launched which contained every member on board the ship (minus Jack and Ayla, of course), and he had to stomach watching the boy Peter Longfellow being seasick almost continually as the small boat was tossed about in the choppy waters of the English Channel. He and Gibbs were soaked to the bone and had to deal with a leak on their end of the longboat, which kept their feet waterlogged and numb with cold. As usual, all his misery was Jack Sparrow's fault. It wasn't until the _Sallie Mae_ happened upon them that they were rescued from their longboat, and finally Barbossa and Gibbs were able to retain some sense of dryness and civilization and not feel like drowned rats in a pail.

Mr. Gibbs, meanwhile, took it upon himself to look at his surroundings as he left the merchant ship _Sallie Mae_. It was now fully daybreak and there came a loud series of gunfire from the other side of the _Sallie Mae_, a scene blocked by the hulk of the merchant ship. Nothing Gibbs did would allow him to see past the form of the merchant ship to view the disturbance. In the other direction, he saw tethered to the dock the _Black Pearl_. _I wonder if Jack made it off the ship_, he mused, largely ignoring the rather rude shoves he was getting from the Royal Navy men leading him down the gangplank.

As the Royal Navy men and their captives walked across the dock, Gibbs and Barbossa were able to see the source of the violence. The _Flying Dutchman_ was being fired upon by townsfolk and Royal Navy men on foot, but the ship was making no attempt to return fire. The battle would have been over in moments had the _Flying Dutchman_ fired her triple guns at the crowd.

Suddenly, a musket ball whizzed over their heads, burying itself in the back of the Royal Navy soldier nearest Joana and causing the man to shriek in pain and fall backwards dramatically. Though Barbossa was restrained, his head turned towards what he presumed to be the source of the shot. As he'd expected, he saw the remnants of smoke rising from, oddly enough, a gun-port at deck level on the _Black Pearl_. He felt his captor shove him as he continued to stare unabated towards the dissipating smoke. A face was now peering out of the gun-port, a face with kohl-lined eyes and a scraggly goatee. _Jack Sparrow._ He knew that vengeance was nigh and turned to his captor.

"The man ye really want is in the _Pearl_," he muttered in a low growl, watching as the man looked confused. "A certain Cap'n Jack Sparrow."

"You're pulling my leg," the man replied, clearly disbelieving as he glanced towards the quietly floating ship.

"He just fired out of the _Pearl_," Barbossa explained, seeing that Gibbs was now aware of his explanation. "I saw his face fer just enough time to know it be him."

"You pirates are all allies," the Royal Navy man replied. "Backstabbing each other is not what allies do, even pirate allies."

Barbossa rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he did so. It was no wonder that Jack Sparrow always managed to escape, what being surrounded by imbeciles.

"The man stole me ship countless times and left me fer dead when he escaped yer bonnie _Intrepid_. He has no loyalty to me, and I've no loyalty to him. I'd kill Sparrow now if I had a loaded musket. I hate the man more than yer entire company put together an' if you don' sneak up on him an' capture him, it be yer own fault. Don' say I didn' warn ye."

"You're trying to distract me, aren't you?" the man replied. "That won't work, pirate! A man like Jack Sparrow is not going to bed down in some moored ship while Royal Navy swarm the docks all around him!"

Suddenly another musket ball blasted from the _Pearl_, bringing a Royal Navy man to his knees as he cried out in agony. This was not lost on the Royal Navy man who'd heard Barbossa's little tale, and he allowed for Barbossa to turn him towards the small plume of smoke emanating from a gun-port on the deck of the _Pearl_. A flurry of dreadlocks and shiny gold beads appeared in the gun-port and quickly disappeared. Barbossa smiled then, his rotten teeth out on display.

"That enough proof fer ye?"

* * *

**A/N: Please review, even if you have the _slightest_ interest in my finishing this story! I couldn't have come this far without you all, and I especially need you now that POTC stories have moved towards POTC4 prequels/sequels/etc and no longer involve Beckett/Will/Elizabeth! **


	35. Restoration

**A/N: Thank you to Countcrescent, Isen-nordon-ss, Dunas Priest, raikota, Kitschy-fox, anonymous, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, and feltheart! Your feedback and continued interest gave me the encouragement to finish this chapter! I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

Soon after Beckett had discovered his niece's ingestion of mercury, a group of pirates approached the Beckett estate high on a hill above Southampton. Finding Hampton House to be abandoned upon their arrival, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty and Cotton were then directed to the admiral's house by inquiring upon a coach driver who happened to pass by. Realizing that taking the coach would be faster than traveling to the estate on foot, Pintel paid the coach driver and instructed him to bring them to the admiral's estate as quickly as possible. Though the men were poorly dressed, and with Pintel wearing an eye patch, the driver did not ask questions, for he was being paid regardless.

Upon their speedy arrival to the admiral's estate, Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton jumped out of the coach and brazenly approached the front gate, where the guard stood with his bayonet-tipped musket.

"An' who are you?" the guard asked, brandishing his weapon at the group of men, who did not stop moving forward.

"I recommend yeh move, if yeh want ta call yourself a survivor," Pintel replied, showing off his yellowed teeth.

The guard stubbornly refused to move, though the pirates had taken several steps towards him.

"What business do you have with the admiral?" he asked the pirates, frowning disdainfully at the sad-looking group.

"We are here to kill Cutler Beckett," Pintel growled, drawing his finger across his throat. Cotton felt the sudden urge to roll his eyes. Now they'd never get in….

Unexpectedly for the pirates, the guard flashed them a wry smile.

"Really?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "An' why is that?"

"Because he stole—" Ragetti began, but was elbowed in the stomach by Pintel.

"Because he bloody well deserves it; tha's why!" Pintel replied with a toothy smirk.

"Fair enough," the guard replied, preparing to speak again. Pintel beamed at the man. At the unexpected Beckett-directed hostility of the guard, Cotton's jaw dropped, revealing to all his lack of a tongue.

"Obviously you despise him as well," Pintel offered. "Let us through, so we can take care of 'im."

The guard knew that the admiral wasn't present at home, so there'd be no threat to his life if these men were allowed entrance. However, there was his duty to keep the estate and the Morgan family safe…. As much as he hated Beckett for causing the death of his brother, he was an employee of one of the most powerful men in England.

"The most I can do for you is to retrieve him for you," the guard finally said, after a thoughtful pause. "You'll have to remain behind the gate, but I won't object to whatever you decide to do with Mr. Beckett after I bring him out. Do we have an accord?"

He refrained from holding out a hand to the filth-covered men, but gave the group an easy smile.

"Aye," Pintel replied, "but we expect yeh back quickly, or we'll come in there ourselves to finish 'im off."

* * *

"Will!" Elizabeth cried, continuing to back up towards the stern of the _Flying Dutchman_. Will Turner was standing closer to the bow but he turned his head to look at her upon hearing her panicked voice. "Why aren't you firing at them?" she cried. All around her the craggy gunwale was being shattered by musket balls and now she could hear the clanking of heavy metal objects and squeaking wheels on the dock below. "I fear cannonade is next!" she exclaimed, her face quickly losing colour.

The familiar protectiveness Will felt about Elizabeth had returned with his immediate redirection of attention towards her, and yet, the vile things he had just heard from her own mouth made him swallow his fear for her safety. He faced forward again in the direction of the firing weapons below.

"I don't care," Will huffed, crossing his arms. "What can they do to me now? Everything I had is gone."

"What about everyone else on the ship? What about your _son_?"

Will Turned completely around, squaring off with the diminutive woman, her mouth twisted into a scowl.

"He's safe on land—at least that's what you told me," Will replied. "Or did you lie about that as well?"

Her face darkened at his accusatory tone, and she stepped towards him with renewed vigor.

"Do you wish for your son to be without a father _and_ a mother?" she raged. "If you don't command your ship to fire, _I_ will!"

"The _Dutchman_ sails as its captain commands," Will snapped back in a phrase eerily reminiscent of Davy Jones. "You have no power over me here."

Suddenly a musket ball struck Will in the back and continued traveling through his chest, a slight flinch his only reaction. The musket ball barely missed Elizabeth, becoming lodged in the mast behind her as it exited her husband's body.

"Will, you have to do something!" Elizabeth demanded. "By not firing, you are putting all our lives at risk."

"Do not refer to my existence as _life_," he spat bitterly. "It is an existence worth than death. And in regards to not firing back at the enemy, isn't that what your Beckett also did? And yet, that didn't stop you from defiling yourself with—"

Suddenly the palm of her hand made contact with his face, and she was almost sickened by the chitinous roughness of Will's still mostly-human face. As she pulled her hand back, he grabbed her arm roughly, the suckers of his starfish hands suctioning to her skin.

"You have betrayed me, Elizabeth," he raged. "The worst part of your betrayal is not only your lack of remorse, but also your willingness to do it again. You are without a conscience and you care for nobody but yourself."

"How dare you?" she spat, yanking her arm away. "If you had any feelings for me at all, you would understand not to sentence us both to death save for one day every ten bloody years! Do you not remember, Will? We have grown up together and you, more than anyone else, know my feelings on freedom, on adventure, on the things that bring me joy! And yet you choose to steal these sources of my happiness by guilting me into giving them up as they dangle before me for my entire life, save five or six days!"

The scowl on his face grew but he said nothing. Elizabeth was not finished explaining herself.

"Why couldn't you be happy knowing that I would be there for you when you return every ten years? I would have been… and I still will be if you ask it. Your servitude to the _Dutchman_ destroyed my life as well; don't you realize that? And yet, you had the chance to make this tragedy easier on me and you chose not to!"

As she finished her tirade, she noticed that Will no longer appeared to be enraged. In fact, he now looked almost thoughtful.

"Do you have nothing to say to me?" Elizabeth raged.

"I can see perfectly now," Will muttered, almost to himself. He blinked several times, his eyes more human-looking than they'd been in months. "I'm no longer blind."

"What are you talking about?" Elizabeth said, her voice almost a whisper. "You were… blind?"

"I was blind since the moment I first laid eyes on you," he explained. "Blinded by my love for you. But now I see you for who you really are, Elizabeth."

"I have never acted unlike myself," she asserted. "You chose to see what you wanted to see."

"Yes, I did," he replied. "And now the cloudiness over my eyes has dissipated." He looked away from Elizabeth, his voice trailing off. "All that Joana said was true…."

Elizabeth cocked her head, a look of irritation and confusion on her face. Had Joana made disparaging remarks about her? How dare her!

"What did she say about me?" Elizabeth muttered, gritting her teeth in an attempt to hide her anger. She crossed her arms, staring at Will as his antenna moustache stopped quivering. "I've never done anything wrong to her!"

"It matters not what she said, but why she said it," he answered, his eyes not focused on Elizabeth but somewhere off in the distance. Something suddenly occurred to him, and Will strode away from Elizabeth without another word towards Bootstrap, who was standing on the deck several paces behind the barrage of musket balls assaulting the ship.

"Where's Joana?" Will asked his father.

"She left the ship not long ago to see where a group of Royal Navy were headed," Bootstrap replied. "Why aren't you firing on 'em, Will? You've got living beings on the ship!"

"Why didn't someone else go? She could die!" Will blurted, his eyes full of fear.

"I wasn't on deck when the group of Royal Navy left, but if I had, I would've gone instead," Bootstrap explained. "Do you want me to go look for her?"

"You said she left not long ago," Will replied. "Is she nowhere on the dock?"

Will strode to the bow of the ship, taking heavy fire to his indestructible body as he scanned the dock and the town beyond that for any sign of Joana's curly auburn hair. He hadn't checked the larboard side of the ship where she had descended and still remained, surrounded by Royal Navy men, who upon taking notice of her, had mysteriously and abruptly died. Elizabeth could only stare in confusion and hurt as Will stood motionlessly while musket balls and cannon balls sailed through his frame, the sting of rejection wholly unfamiliar to her.

* * *

"Julia," Beckett murmured as his sister lowered her arms after their first embrace in years. He still felt full of shame, and remembered the note in his pocket. "Did you ever read the letter that Father left for me?"

It was a stupid question. If she had read it, she would have probably kicked him out of Hampton House at first sight of him.

"Of course not," she answered quickly. "You saw the seal. What does that have to do with—"

"Everything," he muttered. Suddenly he looked down and began fishing in his pocket. He pulled the letter out and unfolded it.

"This morning I took the liberty of destroying the copy of this letter that was held by the High Court," he explained. "If I were a humble, selfless man I would have destroyed this letter without showing you, but then again, my good deeds are few and far between and so I must give each of them the attention it deserves." He held out the letter to his sister, who looked baffled. "Only after you have read it will I destroy it," he added.

Julia Morgan took the letter from her brother and began reading it.

_Dear Cutler,_

_By the time you read this I will have been long-dead. I pray that you have not become allied with the enemy of the Crown, as rumour has long been circulating. I have sent a copy of this letter to the High Court, so that upon your redemption, you must present this letter to the High Court to have the will stated herein to be put into effect. You must read this letter in confidence, in the absence of Thomas Morgan, in particular. _

_My son, you are the last remaining Beckett heir to retain the family name. If you are to marry and produce a male heir, than I shall bequeath unto you the estate. Until you present this letter to the High Courts with a marriage certificate and a male heir, Julia and Thomas Morgan hold control of the estate._

_I do not trust Thomas Morgan with the affairs of the family estate. Although your name has been viciously disparaged, I believe you to be loyal to the Crown, just as you have been throughout your life. However, I cannot say the same for Thomas Morgan._

_If you have accomplished the tasks mentioned in this will, then you hold the key to the estate in your hands. I pray that if you acquire the estate, that you will bestow upon your sister a portion, to retain a good relationship with her and her family. I do not wish that my only children would harbour ill will towards the other over the nature of inheritance. _

_I will miss you when I am gone, Cutler. You have made me proud in your many accomplishments. I hope that you are able to clear the family name of the poison that has befallen it. I only wish you much happiness and prosperity for your future, and I hope that you will return home before it is too late…._

_Yours truly,_

_Father (George Beckett II)_

Beckett watched Julia's light eyes as she scanned her father's words telling his son of his guaranteed inheritance of Hampton House should he produce a male heir. Several times she seemed to frown, and once she'd finished reading the letter, she looked up at Beckett, her eyes half fearful and half suspicious.

"Why are you looking at me that way, Julia?" Cutler asked. "I have already told you; Hampton House is yours." He took the letter from her, but before she could protest or say a word, he tore the letter in half. To his dismay, she did not look relieved or happy; rather, she appeared to be troubled. This was what not what he'd predicted would happen.

"Why didn't Father tell me of his suspicions of Thomas?" she thought aloud. "I trusted Father's judgment and I would have listened had he informed me of his qualms."

"I don't know, Julia," Cutler answered her, feeling rather helpless at the moment. His ears hearkened to the sound of what appeared to be approaching hoofbeats. "But you see now that Hampton House is yours and there is no one that can take it from you," he told her.

Finally Julia snapped out of her troubled state at hearing his insistent tone. She took several steps forward and threw her arms around her brother, pulling him into another embrace. "Thank you," she said, breathing onto his neck. "I know how difficult that must have been for you. Thank you, Cutler."

"Thank you for giving me a place to stay and for making me feel welcome," he muttered back. "I do believe you are the only one on this entire earth that would not shoot me on sight."

"_I_ wouldn't shoot you, Uncle Cutler!" Kitty exclaimed, eyes wide and earnest. Beckett broke the hug to go to his niece, and patted her warmly on the head.

"Thank you, Kitty," he murmured to her with a hint of a smile. Julia beamed at the sweet exchange between her normally cold-as-ice brother and her precious daughter who had been saved from the brink of death. Sadly, the scene was short-lived. Beckett moved away from his niece and turned back to Julia.

"As much as I would prefer to spend more time with you and your children, Julia," he said, his eyes briefly shooting to the open door behind them and the dusty horizon, "I must be go—"

"Pardon me, Mr. Beckett," the doctor interrupted, "but you're not going anywhere with that heart."

* * *

Beckett blinked indignantly several times, irritated that he'd been interrupted by this peon. How dare this man tell him what he could or couldn't do! Julia looked at her brother with a kind of sympathy. Cutler's life certainly hadn't been easy this last year or so. And he had not only saved her daughter's life but had ensured her a place to stay once her husband was arrested.

"Doctor," Julia cut in, "is Kitty out of danger? Will my daughter be alright?"

Caught off-guard by the woman's fearful voice, the doctor turned towards her, smiling comfortingly.

"Yes, Mrs. Morgan, your daughter is no longer in danger. You are free to go, but do give Kitty another glass of milk before her bedtime." Beckett saw his sister momentarily wink at him and knew why she had asked the question of the doctor, who continued to speak. "Otherwise, Mrs. Morgan, you can—"

Cutler suddenly sprinted for the door, unable to even look back at his sister and niece.

"Goodbye, Julia!" he yelled as he ran, feeling a strange twinge of pain in his chest at the thought of leaving them so abruptly. But it was something he must do, if he would ever make it back to Elizabeth. "Goodbye, Kitty!" he called out. "Take care!"

Beckett's recent acquisition of athleticism gave the doctor no chance to give chase, and all that was left of his presence were the ripped up shards of George Beckett's letter and a lingering cloud of dust over his hasty footfalls.

* * *

A group of Royal Navy stood near Captain Barbossa and Joshamee Gibbs, pondering the old pirate's claim.

"Jack Sparrow's on the _Pearl_," a Royal Navy officer on the dock informed his fellow sailors, ignoring the nearby presence of the two pirates. "He's got a musket but his fellow pirate believes him to be alone on the ship."

"What?" a sailor blurted. "Shouldn't we help Admiral Morgan fight against the _Dutchman_?"

"We'd be helping him just as much capturing Sparrow. He wanted _Sparrow_. Besides, it seems like we may be besting the _Dutchman_."

"Seems silly to me—if the _Dutchman_ were to fire her guns, there'd be no dock left," another chimed in. "It's a good reason to avoid her for the time being and focus on capturing a person we outnumber."

"It does appear as if the _Dutchman_'s out of ammunition."

"Sparrow then?" one of the men asked the group.

Barbossa grinned as he eavesdropped on the conversation. Joshamee Gibbs was less willing to listen to the impending attack on his friend by the Royal Navy, who could easily storm the ship as they'd done in Constantinople. If Jack was indeed alone, there'd be no way for him to disembark. He'd be a sitting duck.

"Let's get 'im," the Royal Navy men agreed. They began blatantly traipsing towards the _Black Pearl_, not bothering to hide the fact that they were headed straight for it. Finally, Barbossa could stand it no longer.

"Did ye not hear tha man?" he called out. "Sparrow's got a musket, and he'll blow ye all to smithereens the way yer proceedin' to go!"

* * *

Beckett pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket and smiled to himself, both at his own craftiness in retaining the High Court's copy of his father's letter and at the fact that no one was chasing him. He'd gotten away rather easily and could now stride right through the Royal Navy men gathered at the harbor as an exonerated man. He'd either be on a ship or pleading with Elizabeth in some undisclosed location by the time the admiral knew of his treachery. By that point, the admiral himself would most likely be under arrest for his crime.

As Beckett ran towards a steep cobblestone alley leading towards the harbour, he folded the letter neatly and thought to himself of the possible outcomes today, if he should find Elizabeth. Once the letter was safely stowed in his pocket, he patted the outside of the garment that held the precious piece of paper.

_I must say, you worked rather well with my sister, and she had _years_ of hatred built up against me compared to Elizabeth. Of course, Elizabeth is as stubborn as a mule, but this may soften her resolve…._

He touched the heart that was now hidden by his coat and tucked firmly under an arm. It beat at irregular intervals, suffering silently as Beckett's legs carried him towards his destination.

_And this should take care of the rest…. _

* * *

**Please leave me some feedback! I'm sorry there wasn't much Beckett in this chapter! **


	36. Chaos

**A/N: Thanks to all who have read and all those who have given me their feedback! Thank you Countcrescent, anonymous, Lady Elizabeth Beckett, and raikota for your encouragement! ****And now, without further ado, chapter 36!**

* * *

"Bugger bugger bugger," Jack muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of the steadily-approaching Royal Navy. Suddenly Barbossa yelled something at the men and they made more of an effort to get out of his line of sight, though it was difficult on the open dock. Even so, Barbossa's warning removed them from the immediate line of fire.

He moved away from the gun-port, glancing around at the deck. He had no crew and so could not simply disembark, and he only had a musket and a handful of musket balls remaining.

"Boom," a voice said behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound.

"Boom—why?" the voice clarified before he could whirl around from his squatted position. Jack turned on his heel to see Ayla standing straight up on the deck, pointing towards the carnage several ships away. Jack's eyes went wide as he scampered forward and grabbed her arm, yanking her towards the deck.

"Stay down," he muttered. "Down," he repeated, pointing to the deck. "Or boom Ayla."

Her face was now pale and she didn't fight to stand up again.

"We cannot stay here," Jack murmured quietly. "There are men coming to _boom_ both of us to th' depths. We've got to jump overboard an' swim to safety."

She stared at him, completely lost. He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "You've no idea wot's goin' on at all."

* * *

It was easier than Jack thought it would be to convince Ayla to jump off of the ship. He merely said 'Constantinople' and pointed in some arbitrary direction off to sea, and she promptly leapt off the ship. As soon as the Turkish woman hit the water, the approaching Royal Navy ran towards the source of the splash, staring down into the water with muskets at the ready. Jack grinned to himself at the diversion he had created almost out of accident. He'd have to jump from a different side of the ship now, at the very least—the side closest to the _Dutchman_. Or better yet, would the Royal Navy men be distracted enough to allow him to leave via the dock? He hated to get his hair wet yet again; dreadlocks could get rather heavy when waterlogged. And of course his musket would be rendered useless if the gunpowder became damp.

As he listened to the commotion of the Royal Navy men waiting for the jumper to surface, Jack glanced through the gun-port on the opposite side of the ship to see that Ayla still hadn't surfaced.

_Good girl_, he mused, creeping back across the deck towards the gunfire by the _Dutchman_. Something was missing in the chaotic scene. Where was Joana? Her conspicuous auburn hair was no longer present in his field of vision. He stood up for what he planned to be very briefly with his telescope to gain a wider field of vision. This brief moment turned into his being frozen in place, holding his breath as he continued to stare wide-eyed at the sight before him.

"There's Sparrow!" a Royal Navy man below the _Pearl_ yelled. "Get him!"

Several of the men aimed their muskets to shoot him, and soon the _Black Pearl_ was being pelleted with musket balls. Jack didn't move a muscle.

"Run, Jack!" Gibbs yelled at the top of his lungs. Jack didn't so much as acknowledge Gibbs's frantic shouting. Gibbs could only look at Barbossa and back at Jack.

"Seems like Sparrow's caught in the spell of a cobra," Barbossa suggested. "I always knew th' man to be stupid, but not that stupid," the old pirate muttered, turning his head to glance in the direction that Jack was staring. "What be Jack starin' at so keenly?" he asked aloud as he turned his head towards the source.

His question was soon answered. Joana Sparrow was lying facedown on the dock.

* * *

Mounted Royal Navy men thundered towards the gates of the admiral's estate, towards the quartet of pirates eagerly awaiting Beckett.

"I think we ought to leave," Ragetti murmured fitfully, his eyes full of fear as he watched the ever-approaching group. "They're headed right this way!"

"Do you think they know about Jack?" Marty asked. "I wonder if he's still on the _Pearl_."

"The guard only jus' left ta fetch Beckett," Pintel told Ragetti, ignoring Marty for the time being. "We jus' got here."

"But the Royal Navy!" Ragetti cried, pointing at the cloud of dust steadily approaching. "They're headed right for us!"

"Wait," Pintel muttered, looking off in the distance towards a small cottage. A short man dressed rather splendidly had just sprinted out of the cottage and was yelling indiscriminately in a voice that sounded very familiar. "There's our quarry, gents!" he exclaimed, pointing at the retreating man.

"What? Where?" Ragetti asked, scratching his head and scouring the terrain with his one good eye.

"Beckett!" Pintel gruffly clarified, pointing again at the man in the distance. "Who _else_ is our quarry? Let's go!"

The four men immediately took chase of Beckett, and soon realized they'd have to run faster when some of the Royal Navy men broke off the group to chase _them_. Unaware that he was being chased by pirates, Beckett ran down a cobblestone street on a steep hill, followed a hundred meters behind by the four pirates, who were being gained on by the mounted Royal Navy men.

"I always thought quarries was places for finding rocks," Ragetti finally admitted.

* * *

_No no no bugger no_, Jack's mind screamed. _I lost my concentration for one bloody minute, and now she's dead? I've got to get over there—maybe there's still a chance… Maybe she fell over and is playing dead. She's a smart girl—knows all about medicine. Could probably slow down her own pulse if she wanted, smart medical type that she is. Either way, I can't stay on th' _Pearl_._

Nothing else mattered at the moment but getting to his daughter who was now possibly dead because he'd taken his eye off of her for a moment. In his single-mindedness to get to the dock by the _Dutchman_, Jack took a running leap onto the bowsprit of the _Pearl_ and slid down the curved wood to dock level, musket in hand. As Royal Navy men took chase with their muskets, he boldly sprinted down the dock towards his daughter.

_Please don't die on me, Joana. We haven't even drunk rum together yet. _He didn't feel the musket ball that grazed his arm. _I didn't get to teach you 'A Pirate's Life For Me.' There's so much left for us to do together…._

* * *

"See what you made me do!" Morgan yelled at the Royal Navy officer who had refused to follow Morgan's order to shoot the young woman. "You are no longer worthy of the Royal Navy, Whitehall! Be glad I didn't execute you for insubordination! Now, begone!"

As Whitehall shook his head with disgust and retreated from the dock, the admiral reloaded his pistol and strode towards the motionless figure, her auburn hair splayed out and limbs positioned awkwardly. Joana had gotten some momentum in making a break towards Southampton in the thick crowd of Royal Navy men, but had been promptly gunned down by Admiral Morgan. Courtesy of Jack Sparrow, two dead Royal Navy officers lie near her, the look of surprise still frozen on their faces. Their blood, slicked on the dock, made walking treacherous.

"I must admit, I've never shot a woman before. I had figured it to be more… difficult," Thomas Morgan muttered, now close enough to touch her. "Then again, you _were_ attempting to escape. And you have what I want."

He could now see from this short distance that the still woman was not dead, but nearly so. Her breaths were shallow and gurgling and he used a boot to flip her onto her back. Upon Morgan's doing so, Joana's dark almond eyes locked onto his, and he felt a shiver pass through him.

"So, you are still alive," he said, voice slightly trembling. It was indeed more difficult to shoot a woman. Her chest was soaked with black blood, which seemed to have taken on a life of its own, spreading across her shirt in all directions like a blight. "Tough woman, for being skin and bones. Give me the key and I will spare you further harm."

"…don't have it," she murmured, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Were you not just standing beside the captain of the _Dutchman_?"

"It's not there," she whispered.

"Then where is it, pray tell?" he said with a sneer. "Tell me where it is, or I will not hesitate to kill you."

* * *

From their position on the dock in front of the _Sallie Mae_, Barbossa and Gibbs couldn't take their eyes off the dock where Joana's body lie, but now Admiral Morgan was obstructing their view. The only thing that was apparent was that the admiral had flipped the girl over and that he was now squatted over her, her body motionless before him. The two pirates leaned in close to each other, close enough that the Royal Navy men around them were none the wiser. Strategies were discussed in solemn voices.

All of a sudden, Gibbs blew up, backing away from Barbossa with disgust.

"It's yer fault she's dead, Barbossa!" Gibbs raged, glaring at the taller pirate. His hands were shackled in front of him but he shoved into the taller pirate, almost knocking him off balance. Barbossa stared at him in utter shock all the while, slack-jawed and eyes almost bugging out of his head.

"Do ye see a gun o' weaponry of any kind? How d'ye suppose I could've done such a thing?" Barbossa asked Gibbs, swallowing the knot in his throat that had formed at seeing the young girl's body. He already didn't like this strategy and the mud-slinging it would entail. And he certainly hadn't expected Gibbs to accuse him of murdering Joana. How could Gibbs make such a statement with nothing to back it up? Barbossa had to hide his sorrow at her death and be nothing but enraged at the moment, but it was proving more difficult than he'd imagined it would be. Joana hadn't been such bad company, and she'd worn his mother's dress better than his own mother had. Unlike with Elizabeth, there had never been a period of mistrust with Joana, even though she was Sparrow's daughter. She was intelligent but quite bitter over her tumultuous past. And now she was dead before she could start a new life. Anger bubbled in him at the thought, and he was back on track again.

"Answer me, Mr. Gibbs; how be it my fault?" Barbossa roared. "I've not the magic o' Blackbeard; I can't jus' move weapons around on me own whim!"

"It was yer seekin' the Royal Navy on Jack, when it be Jack who was _defendin'_ her, ye brainless arse!" Gibbs yelled, slamming up into Barbossa again. The Royal Navy man nearest Gibbs tried to pull him away from Barbossa, but Gibbs was rather heavy to lug away. "That's why he was firin' his musket from the _Pearl_; they were comin' fer her an' he stopped 'em," Gibbs continued. "You deserve to be strung up by yer yappin' mouth!"

"The man almost got us killed, Gibbs, lest ye forget!" Barbossa said, looming over Gibbs at first and then slamming his body into his in kind. "He left us to die aboard the capsizin' _Intrepid_, escaping with nary a rescue vessel!"

"It be me own fault that I couldn't get through the breach in the hull," Gibbs replied. "If I wasn't a tad bit overweight, I would have escaped as well! And you—why would Jack want to save yer life, eh? Ye've tried to kill him more times than I can count, an' mutinied upon him more than any cap'n should e'er be mutinied upon!" At that, Gibbs violently shoved Barbossa, his Royal Navy captor grabbing him just in time before he could fall off the dock into the harbor.

"Tryin' doesn' count! Sparrow _killed_ me!" Barbossa roared, using all his strength to shove Gibbs backwards. As he collided with the shorter pirate, they both lost their balance and fell off the dock, pulling their Royal Navy captors into the water with them.

After a minute or so, the remaining Royal Navy crewmates from the _Sallie Mae_ were staring down at the water by the dock and several men were helping the waterlogged Royal Navy captors out of the water. They didn't even notice Jack Sparrow running by, his arms swinging comically at his sides, one hand firmly holding a musket as he barreled right past the preoccupied group.

* * *

As Will stood at the bow of the _Flying Dutchman_, he noticed some odd developments on the dock before him. Many of the Royal Navy men had gathered around the dock leading to the _Sallie Mae_, staring down at the water as two Royal Navy officers stood soaked on the dock. Though the cannons still fired and muskets rang out, most of the men had realized that it had been an exercise in futility and now moved towards the ladders at the larboard side of the ship.

Before he could follow the men's interest to the larboard side of the _Dutchman_, Will noticed the most peculiar thing of all: Jack Sparrow, running right past the preoccupied Royal Navy by the _Sallie Mae_ and right towards the foray at the _Dutchman_.

"Has he gone completely mad?" Will muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Why in the world is he headed straight for the enemy?"

"Is that Jack Sparrow?" Bootstrap asked, his eyes wide with awe, having appeared next to the captain. "If we've any chance of granting him safe passage to the _Dutchman_, ye'd better start firing the triple guns at the Royal Navymen below."

"Why should I help Jack?" Will replied. "He wouldn't do the same for me."

"He's here, isn't he? The _Pearl_ is nigh," he said, pointing towards the dark-sailed ship nearby in the harbour, "and yet all I see is Jack Sparrow running straight fer yer ship."

"There must be a reason for it," Will muttered bitterly. "He'd never risk death to help me. Rather, he'd risk my death to help himself."

"I can't tell you what to do, Will," Bootstrap said, gesturing at the fast-approaching pirate, "but he does look rather solemn, does he not?"

What Bootstrap had said was true. Will could see that Jack's face looked pained, if not completely anguished. Though Jack's arms were splayed out humorously around him, his face was reddened and mouth set in a strange grimace.

"Fine," Will said, waving dismissively. "Fire the triple guns. If Jack can avoid them, then he will be safe. It is all I can do for him."

* * *

The ship shuddered as the panels at the bow were lifted to reveal the pair of triple guns. Jack gaped up at them in horror as he shoved his way forward in a crowd of men attempting to move away from the very real threat that the _Dutchman_ was now posing. Once Sparrow was no longer in danger of being struck, Will lowered the bow of his ship so that the triple guns were now aimed towards the dock. The triple guns fired in succession, their thunderous roars echoing off the cliffs and hills directly in front of the harbour. Smoke rose from the _Dutchman_ and filled the air, obscuring the view of the dock, with only the eerie crags of the _Flying Dutchman_ visible above the smoke.

The scene on the dock was pure chaos, Royal Navy men scattering in all directions and falling to the ground in terror as cannonballs ripped their way through the wood of the dock in addition to nearby harbor shops and boardwalk stands, lampposts crashing down on the dock as men crawled away to avoid a direct hit. Several of the falling lampposts shattered, spreading fire along the surface of the dock. Smoke obscured the vision of all below the _Dutchman_, and splashes could be heard as Royal Navy men fell into the water, some on purpose and some purely by accident. People slammed into each other with yelps of surprise and the clatter of dozens of muskets on the dock was heard as the men below scattered, their pathway obscured by smoke. Screams of men erupted as they fell through obliterated sections of the dock into the water below.

It wasn't often that a ship attacked a harbour, and the damage the _Dutchman_ was afflicting to its target was truly devastating. A cannonball from the _Dutchman_ struck one of the cannons on the dock, sending it and the men hiding behind it into the water below, where several bodies were floating facedown, the dock above them previously dispatched with cannonade. Those who were unlucky enough to fall through the dock onto a body were terrified out of their wits at the sight of death peering through the smoky curtain. The fire from the dock's fallen lamps served as a kind of barrier that men had to run through to get to safety. Royal Navy officers and townsfolk alike could be seen sprinting through the city with trousers on fire, only to dive into the harbour at a safe distance from the _Flying Dutchman_.

Though the scene at the harbour was now utter pandemonium, the mounted Royal Navy men forced their horses to proceed, and many men were knocked to the ground as their horses promptly threw them off and galloped away from the fire and smoke obscuring the docks.

"Joana!" Jack's voice yelled out in the din below. The triple guns fired again and again, causing the remaining horses of the Royal Navy to rear up and stop short of the _Dutchman_. Jack could hear the frantic whinnies of the horses, the yell of Royal Navy men to retreat, the crackle of fire consuming the barnacle-encrusted wood of the docks. His musket was knocked out of his hands by retreating men and clattered somewhere on the dock. He got onto his hands and knees to feel for the musket. Smoke emanating from the dock and from the triple guns of the_ Dutchman_ had fully obscured Jack's view of his musket and his daughter and he squinted in the acrid smoke, feeling his way forward towards the place he presumed she was lying.

From the waters of the harbour, Barbossa and Gibbs were now hidden well enough by the smoke that they were able to pull themselves onto the dock undetected. Their shackles were still very much present, but thankfully their wrists had been joined in the front by the large metal cuffs and they were afforded more motion.

"Where be Joana?" Barbossa muttered, touching what seemed to be a motionless body on the dock. Upon further inspection of the clothing material, the still figure was found to be a uniformed Royal Navy man. Barbossa and Gibbs crawled on hands and knees with an arm partially extended as a kind of antenna. Their metal wrist shackles dragged on the deck as they moved along slowly. The more cowardly of the Royal Navy men crawled away as quietly as possible at the eerie sound of the clanking metal, a sound reminiscent of the transformed crew of the _Flying Dutchman_.

Suddenly something moving quickly slammed into the side of Joshamee Gibbs, causing him to yell out in surprise.

"Are ye tryin' to get us killed or be that an unfortunate side effect of yer idiocy?" Barbossa growled at Gibbs. There was a silence and then Barbossa could sense some motion nearby.

"Oi!" Jack called out in the smoky haze, waving a hand about in front of his face. "Who goes there?"

"Jack?" Gibbs murmured, instantly recognizing the voice.

"Mr. Gibbs?" Jack murmured back. He reached his arm out, his fingers brushing along the man's mutton chop sideburn.

"Are ye lookin' fer Joana? I be searchin' fer her as well," Gibbs said.

"Is that irredeemable coward of a cockroach Barbossa also present?" Jack asked, sniffing the air distastefully. "I believe that it was his traitorous voice I heard only a moment before."

"Jack," Barbossa hissed. "Ye needn't call us all out by name, lest the smoke rises. Be it not you that deserted us an' left us for dead?"

"Speak fer yerself, Barbossa," Gibbs muttered. "There be more important tasks at hand right now."

"Like finding Joana," Jack cut in. "You're lucky for th' smoke, Barbossa."

"Why's that, Jack?" Barbossa asked.

"Because if I so much as see your face, you'll be wishing you'd kept Tia Dalma around… Savvy?"

* * *

As Will smiled grimly upon the scattering Royal Navy and townsfolk below, he was approached by Palifico.

"Captain," Palifico murmured, "It's Joana—she's been shot."

Suddenly Will snapped out of the trance he'd been in while watching the activities on the dock below. He turned to his crewman, his eyes wide and fearful.

"What?" he blurted. "Where is she?" He scanned the deck, seeing crewmembers lugging cannonballs below deck to the triple guns and Elizabeth standing with her arms crossed in front of the mainmast.

"She's down below, on the dock," Palifico told him. "Would you like me to fetch her?"

"Why haven't you already done so?" Will roared. "How could you just let her lie there and be overtaken by Royal Navy!"

"I'm sorry, Will," Bootstrap cut in from his position beside his son, "but your crew must be commanded by you if they are to leave the ship at any time."

"Go get her!" Will demanded, pacing towards the larboard side of the ship. "And bring up some of the bloody bastards around her so that I may punish them accordingly."

* * *

"Oof!" Jack yelled out, as he was dumped unceremoniously on the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ along with Gibbs, Barbossa, and Admiral Morgan. Joana was handled carefully and laid out before the captain of the _Dutchman_. Palifico and Jimmylegs bowed sheepishly as they stepped away from their quarry, ashamed of themselves for allowing this to happen to a woman they'd gotten to know quite well while she stayed aboard their ship. Now that they'd been removed from the smoky atmosphere below, Jack got a good look at Barbossa and Admiral Morgan before noticing the body of his daughter several meters away. Of course his musket was lying somewhere on the dock below, completely useless to him now.

Jack stood up woozily and strode purposefully towards Joana, where she near the center of the ship, her eyes closed. Elizabeth had since rushed forward and knelt down to look at the skinny daughter of Jack Sparrow, the girl who had apparently aided in turning Will against her. She wanted to hate Joana, but couldn't when looking at the young woman's present state.

Joana's shirt was soaked in blood from the exit wound in her gut. It continued to seep forth more slowly now, as her thin, alarmingly pale body lie on the deck. Her hair was stained with the blood of the Royal Navy victims that had fallen around her courtesy of her father's keen aim.

"Wake up, Joana!" Jack cried, sliding to his knees beside her and shaking her shoulders. Her head rolled around with no musculature actively holding it steady. "You're stronger than that, luv," he said to her. "See? You've only been shot once," he murmured reassuringly, more for his own benefit than for hers. "Do you not know th' age-old phrase? One musket ball does not a Sparrow fall." He gestured to his own arm, where a musket ball had grazed him several minutes before and tore through his sleeve.

Will approached the motionless girl and extended his arm towards her, his face grave and full of concentration.

"Joana," Will muttered, touching her on the arm as he bent towards her. Suddenly her eyelids fluttered. Jack leaned forward, a smile emerging on his face, but Will was still doubtful. The wound looked awful, and ironically, Joana was the best-equipped to fix something like this, but not on her person.

"You're going to be just fine, just you wait an' see," Jack murmured soothingly to his daughter. Smiling broadly at her, he pushed some stray auburn hairs out of her face to watch her smile back at him. "You've got my strength and persistence an' soon you'll be showing your battle scars to all," he told her. "I have me own; you'll pick 'em up over time, jus' you wait."

She lifted her head slightly, the colour slowly returning to her face.

"This is my fault entirely," Will muttered, bowing his head. "I'm so sorry, Joana."

"I went on my own will," she replied quietly, her voice strained. "Have those Royal Navy men returned yet?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Will's face.

"You're in excruciating pain and all you can think about is that," he said, shaking his head. "You must get better as soon as you are able so you can spread your selflessness to the world."

"I'm not selfless," she replied. "I'm just stubborn."

Jack Sparrow couldn't help but beam at his daughter.

"That's my girl."

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry there's so little Cutler Beckett in here! I promise there'll be more in the next chapter!**


	37. The Fear Of Death

**A/N: The trilogy is almost complete but it could not have gotten this far with all my reviewers over the years! Thank you to all who have read and all those who have left me feedback and encouragement to write on! Now, more than ever, I would like to have your honest feedback so that I can wrap this story up very satisfactorily! Please take a little time to review!**

* * *

**The Fear Of Death**

Jack Sparrow had run out of things to say. He sat cross-legged before his daughter as she breathed in and out with difficulty. When Joana would attempt to say something, her voice was promptly drowned out by the thunder of the triple guns. He turned his head to glance over at the unconscious figure of Admiral Thomas Morgan, who remained lying on the deck, having been rendered unconscious by the hasty drop onto the _Dutchman_'s deck. Will Turner was eyeing Morgan as well, the maligned man who had moments ago revealed himself to be the holder of the Dead Man's Chest and had even begun barking out orders for Will to perform. He would take care of him once he was sure Joana was stable.

As Jack and Will glared in the direction of Admiral Morgan from their location beside Joana, Barbossa skulked further away, well-aware that he'd played some role in the wounding of the girl. How was _he_ supposed to know that Jack was actually trying to help someone else by shooting towards the _Flying Dutchman_? It was difficult to feel isolated from any conversations on deck because the deafening sounds of the _Dutchman_'s cannons made conversation nigh impossible even from a short distance.

"I should kill that man," Will muttered aloud, his eyes still locked on the still form of Admiral Morgan.

"Why is that?" Jack replied in a loud voice. "Is th' _Flying Dutchman_ officially an enemy of th' Crown? Or you do you still consider yourself a pirate?"

"That man claims to be in possession of my heart," Will spat bitterly.

"But you don' even like him," Jack cut in, shrugging as he smiled at the _Dutchman_'s captain. He was met with a roll of the eyes from Will, who replied in an irritated voice.

"You know very well that's not what I—"

Joana began tapping her hand insistently on the deck and both men turned to face her. She opened her mouth to say something but the noise of the cannons and gunfire below drowned her out.

"Hold your fire and raise the bow!" Will finally yelled, to which his crew immediately stopped firing upon the harbour, the bow of the ship rising so that the deck was now parallel with the surface of the water. An eerie silence fell over the ship and the harbour at the commencement of the ceasefire. Jack could see Joana's eyes moving from him to Will to Gibbs and then back to Will again as the rapping sound continued unaddressed.

"Now, what was it you wanted to say, Joana?" Will asked the wounded woman, touching her hand with his. "Please tell me."

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she prepared to tell the men that Admiral Morgan had shot her. They already despised him for his role in acquiring the Dead Man's Chest, but no one had seen him gun her down on the deck below. He was dangerous and yet not being treated as such. Revealing his more sinister role in her current state of being would ensure his demise, and she now pondered whether he deserved immediate death. Perhaps if he were kept alive he could direct the crewmates of the _Dutchman_ to the Dead Man's Chest. Suddenly there came a metal-on-wood rapping on what seemed to be the larboard side of the _Dutchman_. Joana's eyes never left Will's for a moment, even in light of this new noise.

"D'ye hear that tapping sound?" Jack asked his daughter, relieved to see her look over at him. However, his relief was short-lived because she once again looked towards William Turner.

"What tapping sound," Joana murmured, her attention all but completely taken by the barnacled young captain. Jack silently sighed. How could she not hear that bloody racket down below? Was yet another woman in Jack's life finding herself attracted to the eunuch?

The rapping steadily grew louder and more insistent and Jack took this opportunity to get away from watching the mind-boggling magnetism of Will in attracting Joana's gaze. The dreadlocked pirate stood up and moved to the gunwale to peer over at the brave soul who dared to disturb the silence inflicted by the _Flying Dutchman_. It was a Royal Navy man, bloodied and battered, his face streaked with tears as he used all his strength to rap on the _Dutchman_ with a musket.

"Who is that?" Will remarked from his place near Joana, glancing over briefly at the pirate.

"It's a wounded man," Jack replied. "Royal Navy, I'd imagine, but there's too much blood to tell."

Will sighed, not wanting to take his attention away from the badly wounded woman in front of him. He suddenly wished he'd taken note of the words he'd been dictating to Joana from her water-stained Portuguese medical dictionary. Why hadn't he asked her what the words had meant? He'd been so fixated on Elizabeth at that time that he'd completely forsaken a chance at learning something that could have been applied to Joana's current condition. Of course Joana knew what should be done, but now she hadn't the wind to tell him what he needed to do to help her.

"What does he want?" Will asked, clearly disinterested. He watched Joana attempt to lick her cracked lips, her breaths uneven and shockingly shallow.

Jack peered down at the noisy man on the dock, his beaded dreadlocks dangling over the side of the ship as he called down to the man.

"Wot do _you_ want?" Jack yelled.

"It's Lockham, John Lockham," the man replied weakly.

"Right," Jack muttered. "John. Are you not aware that it is th' _Flying Dutchman_ that is being knocked upon by your…"

Jack's voice trailed off as he peered at the musket in the man's hand, a musket that was clearly not Royal Navy issue. The musket looked very familiar and it soon dawned upon him that the musket the man was bashing against the side of the ship was in fact the very musket that had been knocked out of _his_ hands earlier in his search for Joana. That musket was Jack's sole firearm, being as his pistol was probably still lying on the bottom of a harbour in the Azores. Before Jack could say anything about the musket, the man below spoke.

"I don't want to die!" the wounded Royal Navy man cried out pitifully.

Jack turned his head towards Will, but kept his hands on the gunwale.

"Sounds to me like th' man wants to join your crew," Jack said. "In other words, he's one of those… death-fearers."

"I'm not Davy Jones," Will seethed, not moving from his place near Joana. "I will not press-gang the dying into this wretched existence. Leave him to his fate."

Instead of striding back over towards the center of the ship to let the man pass away on his own, Jack glanced down at the man to see him preparing to thump the musket against the ship once more.

"Don' bloody do that!" Jack yelled down, swinging his arms animatedly.

"I have to," Lockham whimpered in reply, his voice barely discernable. "Please… tell him." When Sparrow made no move to tell the _Dutchman_'s captain anything else, Lockham bashed the musket off of the ship once again.

"I'll have you know that's my musket you're using as a club," Jack exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the weapon in the man's hand. "Don' bash that up against th' ship again, you hear me? You're holdin' th' musket o' Captain Jack—"

"Bring me up," Lockham pleaded, his voice significantly weaker than the dreadlocked pirate's voice, "or the musket goes into the sea." With that, he fully extended his arm towards the water, the musket hanging precariously over the water. Jack shook his head at his stupidity at revealing this source of leverage. If his musket were to fall into the harbour, it would be forever lost, just as his pistol had been.

"Bugger bugger," Jack muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Wot to do, wot to do….."

* * *

"William," Jack announced from his position at the gunwale, "I feel rather bad for th' man. He looks to be in quite a lot of pain. You've th' power to erase that wiv just one question, you know…"

"What about _my_ pain?" Will suddenly roared at Jack. "I've lost not only my life, but my heart _and_ my wife. And now the only person who didn't treat me like a bloody child is lying here on the deck in just as much pain as that man, if not more! Kindly inform him that an existence aboard this ship is worse than death!"

"But he wants it," Joana blurted. Will gaped over at her in surprise as she spoke again. "You would refuse his final wish?"

"I have all the crew I need," Will spat. "I don't need another man committing a century to a duty that I as the _captain_ have failed to do over the course of a bloody year."

"Does it have to be a century?" Joana asked. "No shorter?"

For a moment Will was caught off-guard. He could only look at her with puzzlement, before turning to his father.

"I don't know if there's a set of rules that must be followed," Bootstrap muttered, shaking his head and stepping forward. "I don't think anyone's been here since the beginning of Davy Jones' tenure on the ship. We only know what we have seen from him, that being a century of service."

Will rolled his eyes.

"All I know is that the ship needs a captain and a living heart. I am not familiar with all the other decrees and—"

"Oh, just let him join your bloody crew," Jack interrupted. His statement was met with incredulity by Will.

"You will not tell me what to do," Will hissed in a pouty tone. "I am the captain of this ship and I will decide if a dying man's final frantic decision is a poor one, which it almost certainly is."

"He's got a name, you know: John Lockham," Jack retorted.

"Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?" Will shot back. "Let alone an enemy intent on killing you."

Jack froze for a moment, attempting to think up a valid excuse as his eyes darted about nervously. He'd always put himself in front of others and was not the type to care for anyone else, let alone an enemy. There was no real excuse in the interest of being a selfless person. Joana had certainly not inherited that particular trait from him. The dreadlocked pirate glanced down for a moment to see the man holding his musket perilously over the water, and when he looked back at Will, he sighed loudly, clearly exasperated.

"Truth to tell, it's coz he's got me musket and he's goin' to drop it into th' water if you don' _save_ him, as it were. Savvy?"

* * *

Cutler Beckett panted as he ran down the hill, fraught with precious items of all kinds as pirates and Royal Navy alike bore down on him. The strange circular map was still wrapped firmly around his waist but in being so tightly wrapped, it made breathing difficult. The heart from the Dead Man's Chest was tucked under his arm, and though it was being jarred it still pounded rather rhythmically. It was odd for him to imagine that this was indeed the heart of William Turner, the man who'd spent some time with him aboard the ill-fated _Endeavour_ during the various tradeoffs with the pirates. Not only did Beckett have these two priceless possessions, but the letter from his father was another important piece, tucked securely into the pocket of his clean and decidedly un-pirate-like frock coat.

The _Flying Dutchman_ lie directly ahead of him surrounded by a thinning blanket of smoke that obscured the dock. Elizabeth had to be aboard the _Dutchman_. There was no possible way that she would have remained in the doctor's house while the _Dutchman_ was nigh. It was a risk that he would have to take if he was to find her. He hadn't completely considered the odds of her not being aboard the ship, but she had no reason to avoid Turner, for she _had_ named her son after him and surely she had loads to tell him. The horses that had been following him now seemed to be falling back on this steepest section of street because of the inherent difficulty of galloping down such a steeply sloped cobblestone road. He almost sighed with relief, now fully setting his sights on the distant ship.

"We've got yeh now, Beckett!" Pintel suddenly yelled, and within a moment, Beckett felt the heavy pirate land on his back and grab him around the neck. The two men fell onto the cobblestone with loud groans of pain, Pintel clutching whatever he could get his hands on as Beckett fought for control of his frock coat, the sole article of clothing holding all the precious items of his redemption.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Beckett growled, enduring a barrage of strikes from Pintel as he merely clutched his own frock coat to his chest. Pintel's fist connected with his nose and he had to ignore the fact that it was now bleeding freely. Pintel could only wrinkle his face up with confusion as he continued to punch and tear at Beckett with no physical retaliation from the smaller man. "Let me go, bloody heathen!" Beckett exclaimed, his eyes foggy from the direct hit to his nose, as the blurry outlines of the other pirates descended upon him.

"Fight like a man, poppet!" Pintel snarled, as he ripped the collar of Beckett's frock coat. He could see that Cutler Beckett's eyes were now tightly shut, his arms wrapped around his upper waist as if he was sick to his stomach. "I didn' even hit yeh in the stomach, bloody coward!" Pintel added. "Jack wants yeh dead or alive, but I prefer the former!"

"Why isn't he fighting?" Ragetti questioned. "This is right hard to watch, Pintel. Why don' we just drag 'im to the _Pearl_? If he's got the key on 'im, his rollin' aroun' on the ground's a good way to lose it."

"Ah, the voice of reason," Beckett muttered. He was promptly smacked in the mouth by Pintel and he shut his eyes again, preparing for the next barrage of hits. Instead of that, he heard Pintel sigh.

"Fine," Pintel grumbled, conceding to Ragetti. "Let's get 'im up. But help me up first."

_He said rolling_, Beckett mused, noticing that for the moment, no one was touching him. Rather, Ragetti was pulling Pintel up by both arms. _This _is_ quite a steep hill._

The heart thudded underneath his frock coat and he could still feel the wood slats of the map wrapped around his chest. He'd have to have faith in trusting that the letter remained on his person. He winced with the knowledge that this trip would be rather painful and that he'd have to keep his neck stiff so he didn't bash his nose open on the cobblestone. With the toe of a boot, he pushed his body so that it was now lying perpendicular to the hill. With a silent prayer, Beckett lifted the tip of his boot and shut his eyes as he began to roll downhill.

* * *

"Thank you," Lockham murmured after he'd been placed on deck, his body leaning against the gunwale of the _Dutchman_. His bloodstained tear-soaked face was inexplicably drawn into a smile.

"No thank you for leavin' my musket down below," Jack muttered, stalking away from the man. "That's th' last time I help someone else." He'd have to fetch his musket himself at some point, but not while Joana was still lying down. All the while, Will Turner stood up and strode towards Lockham, his hands clasped behind his back, mouth drawn into a grimace.

"Now, what is this all about?" Will muttered in a low voice laced with impatience.

"I fear death, Captain," Lockham whispered.

"I'm not Davy Jones," Will grumbled, suddenly looking resolute. He stumbled as he reacted to the sensation of a sudden sharp pain in his empty chest. Had he misspoken and broken a kind of silent set of rules? He blanched with fear.

"I know—I wouldn't ask for this otherwise," the dying man replied. "Please, I haven't much time."

His eyes wide, Will glanced over at Joana to see her nodding slightly towards him. He clutched his chest as he felt himself gasp for breath. The pain came on faster and faster in rhythmic waves, and he hoped that it would be gone after he'd performed his duty. Had Davy Jones been under these kinds of restrictions during his tenure aboard the _Dutchman_? It was no wonder that he had carefully hidden his heart deep under the sand of Isla Cruces. Will searched his mind to recall the words of Davy Jones that fateful night he encountered him on the shipwreck, the chilling words that would forever remain with him.

"I offer you a choice," Will began, his voice strained. "Join my crew, and postpone the judgment. One hundred years before the mast." He took a deep breath to stifle the pain before asking the crucial question. "Will you serve?"

"I will," Lockham whispered. He fell silent and closed his eyes.

Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, Gibbs, Elizabeth, and Joana intently watched the Royal Navy man to see what exactly the transformation from dying to _Dutchman_ crew entailed. Will, on the other hand, struggled to maintain his composure as a searing pain ripped through his chest. Surely the pain should be over by now. Thomas Morgan, the man who claimed to possess the Dead Man's Chest, was now sitting on the deck and gaping silently at the exchange that had just taken place between Will and the dying Royal Navy man, and so he could not be responsible for this new pain. What on earth was happening to him?

After seconds that ticked by like minutes, there appeared a faint green aura around Lockham, a sight that lasted only a moment but which was noticed by all but Will Turner, who was now squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

"The green flash!" Gibbs exclaimed, pointing as the flash immediately dissipated. "I think it worked! Did ye see that?"

Lockham's eyelids began to twitch, and soon his eyes flickered open to take in the sight around him. He had been saved from the brink of death and was now alive and well and thankful to the new captain of the _Dutchman_. He felt renewed strength coursing through his veins and looked up towards Will with gratitude, but Will was no longer standing. Rather, Will cried out in agony and fell facedown on the deck, both hands clawing at his throbbing chest.

* * *

"Will! What's wrong?"

Elizabeth's voice rang out with alarm as she sprang up from her position near Joana and ran to Will's side. Bootstrap followed in kind, kneeling at his son's side and nudging him over onto his back. Joana saw the horrific scene and grunted with extreme exertion as she forced herself into a seated position, scooting herself across the deck with her hands. Jack took several steps towards the scene but let the two women on deck get closest to Will in his suffering.

"Will," Joana called out to him as he lie trembling and moaning on the deck. "Is it your heart?"

Will felt several pairs of hands upon him and his eyes fluttered open to the sight of Elizabeth, Bootstrap, and Joana looming over him, their blurry faces etched with concern. Had the sight of Joana's bloodied shirt been only a dream? How was it possible that she was now seated upright when only moments ago she could barely lift her head? A searing pain racked his body and he winced, squinting his eyes as he did so.

"Joana, how is it you are here?" Will asked through gritted teeth. "Are you alright now?"

He could make out blurry auburn hair over a stark white face moving downwards as she bowed her head to look at her stomach.

"I probably shouldn't sit up for much longer," she muttered. "The question is, are you alright?"

"Again you put someone else's health above your own," he replied, shaking his head, a hint of a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. "How is it that only now in the wake of your being wounded, that I'm finally able to appreciate the altruism you've always shown?"

"I am a doctor's assistant," she replied. "It is my duty. Now… what pains you?"

"It's my heart," he said. "It feels as if someone is crushing it over and over again. You are far too pale, Joana. You should lie down and not overtax yourself."

Joana took his advice and leaned back slowly until she was flat on her back. Within moments, she'd shut her eyes, the only sign of life her labored breathing.

"She needs a doctor," a voice called out from above Will. Will looked up to see Elizabeth standing before him. "I know where to find one," Elizabeth added. "His name is Dr. Stillwell. Our son is at his house. I can fetch him and bring him aboard while Dr. Stillwell treats Joana."

Will could only stare at Elizabeth with confusion. Ever since he'd told her of Joana's deeds against her, she'd been standoffish and almost sullen. Why had she chosen to volunteer information to help the girl?

* * *

Admiral Morgan couldn't help but listen to the information that the woman had just provided. So she was the mother of Turner's son. If anyone had the key or knew where it was, it was this woman. He stifled a grin at the thought, glancing down to see his sidearm was intact and still contained his pistol. Quietly he loaded it with a fresh shot.

"That's too dangerous, Miss," Lockham said to Elizabeth, before Will could utter a word. "It's best you stay aboard the ship. The dock is mostly gone now and walking is right treacherous, not to mention the odd Royal Navy man hell-bent on revenge. Let me fetch the doctor and the boy."

With that, he looked to Will for permission to disembark.

"Mr. Lockham," Will muttered, "if anything happens to my son while in your care, I'm holding you personally responsible. Your service aboard the _Dutchman_ will be immediately forfeited and you will die."

Lockham froze, considering the harsh warning. Meanwhile, Jack frowned at the entire exchange, his face scrunched up with distaste. He looked over at Lockham, who was lost in thought, and offered his opinion.

"That's not much incentive to go, eh?"

* * *

"Ooof!"

Cutler Beckett's roll down the steep cobblestone street came to an abrupt end when he slammed into the back of a building that thankfully stood on the flat expanse of city flanking the harbour. His head spun and ached in throbbing waves that seemed to coincide with the beating of his own heart. He lay against the building attempting to regain his sense of up and down, his knees and elbows skinned raw and bleeding freely through his clothing. His luxurious clothing was now covered in dirt, dust, and horse droppings in addition to the blood stains on the knees of the trousers and on the elbows of his shirt and frock coat from his vain attempts to slow himself down. He certainly didn't look ready for redemption and in fact looked like a pirate ripe for hanging. Beckett let out a long-held sigh of exasperation at the thought.

Not only was he dizzy and disoriented, but his stomach was more than a bit unhappy from its journey down the hill. Groaning, Beckett pulled himself into a seated position against the back of the building, clutching his stomach and feeling the stiffness of the map beneath his frock coat. Several arrhythmic thumps under his armpit indicated that the heart had made it down the hill in his possession. Feverishly, he jammed a hand into his frock coat pocket to pull out the letter from his father and placed it back there when he was satisfied. He had escaped the pirates with all his precious possessions intact, which was nothing short of miraculous taking into account his mode of transportation downhill.

His eyes adjusted to the terrain, rising upwards as he took in the full view of the steep slope he had just descended in a most outrageous way. Pintel and Ragetti smacked each other as they ran down the hill, clearly arguing about something, most likely about Ragetti's unintentionally allowing for Beckett to escape.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself at the ever-approaching group. "They are quite the persistent lot; I'll give them that."

He shoved his body against the building as he planted his feet firmly on the ground, straightening his knees to lift himself up against the solid surface. His dizziness and motion sickness were still very much present, but it was more important to put additional distance between his pirate pursuers and him. Beckett turned his head and peeked around the side of the building towards the harbour, where the smoke was all but completely gone now and the _Dutchman_ was still moored to the dock. Three figures stood at the bow of the ship and a single person strode along the dock below the ship as if on a mission. He could not tell from this distance if the persons he observed were male or female, let alone their identities.

"Give it up, Beckett!" Pintel yelled across the town, his gruff voice carrying surprisingly well as he ran down the hill at a speed far slower than Beckett's roll. "We've got yeh cornered now!"

Beckett sharply turned his head towards the source of the yell and promptly dizzied himself once again.

"I've got to press on," he muttered under his breath, turning back towards the _Dutchman_ and the three indiscernible individuals at the bow. "Oh, what I'd give for a spyglass," he said with a sigh. He took in a deep breath and traversed in the direction of the _Flying Dutchman_, planting his hand on nearby buildings and structures to keep himself upright as he moved around them.

* * *

Will and Elizabeth stood at the bow of the _Flying Dutchman_, watching Lockham carefully maneuver around the destroyed dock on his journey to Dr. Stillwell's house. Will had just suffered through his worst bout of chest pain but now it seemed to have subsided. The pair said not a word to each other as they watched the activity in the harbour, the smoke having subsided. Barbossa stood nearby, scanning the hillside with his spyglass to reveal Royal Navy men on horseback following—_wait,_ _was that Pintel_? His smile grew as he counted the pirates as they ran down the street in a clump: Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton. A quick glance to the left revealed the presence of the _Black Pearl_ floating serenely in the harbour. One more man would be ideal, but he could make do with five. His rotten teeth on display, Barbossa turned around and glanced at Joana, who seemed to be improving. Jack Sparrow was hunkered down by his daughter yet again, passing her a flask of rum, his back turned away from the bow. Gibbs was nowhere in sight.

_It's now or never_, Barbossa mused, moving to the gunwale on the larboard side of the _Dutchman_. His bloodshot blue eyes took in the sight of the deck and the people aboard, all taking no notice of him. _An' I needn't take the blame fer Joana's woundin'. It wasn't I who pulled the trigger._

Barbossa took the first two steps down the ship's ladder. _Who be the cur who shot her? Could it be that man on the deck? 'Twas he that be standin' o'er her shortly afterward._

For a moment, he considered ascending the ladder again and putting an end to the admiral's existence. However, if he did that, all eyes would be on him and he'd never get the chance to disembark. He was, after all, a pirate who followed the universal law in these trying times: _every man for himself_.

* * *

**A/N: I really need your feedback, guys! I want to finish this and your reviews make it possible!**


	38. Ever Changing Fate

**A/N: Hi everyone. Sadly my 16 GB flash drive which had my life on it passed away and with it, took away the two chapters I had almost completely finished. Because of this, I had to rewrite these chapters and so it took me far longer than I would've liked to have taken. It was discouraging seeing my time gone in a flash (drive). I also finished my thesis and defense in the last several months, but now I am done! I hope you like this next chapter! Please let me know what you think! I promise the next update will be much sooner than this one was!**

* * *

"I knew I'd find ye right when I needed ye!" the voice cackled out, a voice directed towards him. Cutler Beckett let out a sigh of defeat; he was done for.

The former lord of the East India Trading Company steadied himself against the building as he took a tentative glance around the corner to see the source of the voice, thoughts spinning in his head as he prepared for capture or death. How in the world had he been spotted? He had merely stolen a brief glance towards the _Flying Dutchman_ from behind a rather sizable building, and unless someone was gazing in his exact direction, they would never have spotted him. It was impossible…

But there was someone, flesh and bone, striding right towards him! Cutler Beckett audibly gasped as recognition dawned on him—it was Hector Barbossa!

* * *

Barbossa raised his hands as if to calm someone down. A devious smile crept across his mouth, yellow teeth glistening as he cleared his throat.

Beckett froze in place, his muscles ready for flight or fight. He had never imagined the minor pirate Barbossa to be his captor. No, if he had ever been captured, it would have been by Jack Sparrow. Not that he would have lived long afterwards…

"Gents, slow yerselves down!" Barbossa exclaimed, his blue eyes staring above the building that Beckett now stood behind. "Yer just in time fer our departure!"

Immediately Cutler Beckett's gaze turned to the murderous pirates that were a dozen strides away from him.

"Gents, ye needn't stir up so much dust!" Barbossa cautioned the sprinting men. "We need to make haste and keep a low profile!"

"It's Beckett!" Pintel yelled, his breaths ragged. He pointed at the man hiding behind the building as he continued to approach at breakneck speeds.

"What?" Barbossa scoffed.

Now was the time. Beckett had to make a break for it. Regardless of whether or not Barbossa knew of his presence, Pintel and Ragetti were nowhere near stopping. In fact, if Pintel ran into him now, every bone in his body would be crushed. _There is a line of buildings to the other side, and no chance of escape,_ he mused._ I must use Barbossa's path to depart from here. This is my only chance._

Without a sound, Cutler Beckett dashed towards the approaching Barbossa, slamming his shoulder into Barbossa as he rushed by him. The ensuing click was expected. Cutler slowed down considerably at the sound of Barbossa cocking a pistol.

"Stop right there," Barbossa growled. "An' turn around. I want to see the cowardice in yer eyes."

Beckett had now halted, his shoulders slumping with defeat and exasperation. He turned around slowly to face the pirate captain, a look of dread on his face. Barbossa's smile grew further. Beckett heard a loud thump and three pained _oofs_ as Pintel, Ragetti, Marty, and Cotton ran into the back of the building.

"I've been meanin' to end yer existence since I first laid eyes on ye," Barbossa spat. "What've ye got to say fer yerself?"

A thought occurred to Beckett. In spite of his position, a smile crept onto his face.

"Ye've nothin' to smile about, Beckett," Barbossa remarked. The pistol gleamed, but Beckett was no longer afraid of it.

"Oh, but I do, Captain Barbossa," Beckett drawled. Barbossa was now glowering. Apparently Cutler Beckett had a death wish.

"An' what might that be?" the pirate ventured.

"Apparently you wish to remain incognito, an impossibility if that weapon is discharged."

Barbossa took two steps towards Beckett. Behind him, Pintel and Ragetti glared daggers at Beckett. Cotton and Marty were still behind the building, out of breath.

"D'ye not believe ye can be killed by other means?" Barbossa asked.

"If you so much as take another step towards me, I will be inclined to scream. After all," Beckett said, shrugging casually, "I have nothing to lose."

"Let us kill 'im for yeh," Pintel muttered under his breath. "I'll make quick work of 'im."

Beckett did not so much as look at Pintel but focused on Barbossa. He couldn't help but notice Barbossa staring longingly towards the harbour. Slowly Beckett turned his head to see the source of the longing and guessed correctly—the _Black Pearl_ was docked there.

When Beckett turned to face Barbossa again, he felt a wave of confidence.

"I assume you are to leave Sparrow behind and sail away on the _Pearl_," Beckett murmured, using all his will power to hide a smile. "If you let me go, I will allow for you to escape undetected."

"How dare ye think ye have any kind o' bargainin' power whatso'er!" Barbossa blurted. "Yer gonna die where'er ye go, Beckett! If it isn't me who be killin' ye, it be Sparrow or Turner or perhaps e'en the Royal Navy!"

Barbossa had a valid point. But there were other tasks at hand.

"I'll take my chances," Beckett deadpanned. "If you fire that weapon, you're discovered. Again Sparrow will gain control of his _Pearl_ and his freedom and you will be left here on the mainland to be hanged like common filth."

Again Barbossa's gaze went to the _Pearl_. Beckett's muscles tensed. _Another chance._

Without warning, Beckett spun around and took off sprinting directly towards the _Flying Dutchman_ with no regard for all his enemies aboard the cursed ship. Pintel and Ragetti began to run after him, but were grabbed by Barbossa.

"No use, lads," Barbossa muttered. "The man's runnin' right towards his death. With the distraction he'll be soon causin' to Turner and Sparrow, the _Pearl_ is as good as ours."

* * *

"Why hasn't he emerged from the house yet?" Will muttered, scowling as he stared at the doctor's tiny cottage near the harbour. "Joana needs a doctor."

"Perhaps it is taking more explaining for Dr. Stillwell to hand over Will."

She heard what sounded like a growl emerge from her husband's throat.

"How dare you name that… child after me," he spat, never taking his eyes off of the house. "That child is keeping Joana from being well again. That doctor should be making haste to return for her sake!"

"How dare you!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "You are more concerned with Jack's daughter than you are your own son!"

"It is true," he admitted. "The child may not even be mine. Now, Joana knows what abandonment is and she is comforting to me. She sympathizes. "

"Then marry _her_," Elizabeth quipped, hurt that Will would reject his own son, the son she almost died trying to keep. "After all, she is your twin."

"I married you," he stated. "I am not at liberty to marry or woo another."

"What are you talking about? Do you not realize that you were taken from me?" Elizabeth exclaimed, escalating the volume of the conversation. "I can only spend a handful of days with you for my entire life!"

"But you are alive!" Will yelled, eyes blazing red as he glared at her.

"Don't you understand, Will? The fate you left me to is worse than your own!" she screamed back. "You have no bloody temptation here! You have your father here! You weren't planted on an island to rot away while anticipating five days in your entire life, with no family and no friends to be found!"

The astonishment on Will's face was very clear as he took in Elizabeth's words. He began to mutter under his breath, his head shaking all the while.

"How can you say such a thing—"

"I say it because it is true!" she snarled. "I would never dream of holding you to these impossible standards you have imposed on me! By your asking of my constant loyalty in spite of your permanent absence, you are taking away the very core of my being!"

"_I_ would wait," he murmured. Elizabeth shook her head in disagreement.

"It is far easier said than done, even for someone as inexorably devoted as you! I would allow you to have a full and happy life without me! I would let you marry Joana if you so desired!"

It was apparent that Will was losing this argument. Elizabeth was no sorrier for her actions now than she was when she had first boarded his ship. He sighed as he turned to face the harbour once again, wholly unable to speak another word to Elizabeth.

* * *

Cutler Beckett was running out of breath far earlier than he had anticipated. He turned his head slightly to see that he was no longer being chased. Sighing with relief, Beckett slowed his pace, again peering towards the group to see Cotton and Marty seemingly protesting Barbossa's plans for the _Black Pearl_. Of course, only Marty could find any success at arguing.

Beckett had important tasks at hand involving appeasing those who sought his death. The heart would appease Will Turner, and the circular map would appease Jack Sparrow. His father's note—who knew what effect it would have on Elizabeth Turner, or if it would have any effect at all. He pondered how he would board the ship in front of him.

_Shall I maintain the element of surprise? Or shall I reveal my bargaining chips all at once?_ His question was answered for him when a pair of red eyes locked on him.

* * *

"Koleniko! Palafico! Make haste!" Will yelled out, motioning for his crewmates. His eyes, now bright red, locked on the small figure of Beckett on the destroyed dock.

"Yes, Cap'n?" they asked simultaneously.

"My worst enemy is on the dock. Bring him back to me… alive."

Elizabeth stared down at the dock to see a man in soiled clothing. She felt her heart thudding in her ears. The emotions she now associated with this man were wildly divergent. Ginger, the kiss on Pico Island, tickling, all they had done to and with each other... destroyed by his betrayal of her with the key and his inheritance. Was he fated to die at the hands of her husband?

* * *

The fish-like creatures leapt down from the ship and landed directly in front of Cutler Beckett, causing him to yelp and jump back in surprise. Koleniko and Palafico glared at the small man for a period of time as his stomach contents rose in his throat.

Beckett gulped audibly as his eyes darted toward where the _Pearl_ had been docked, and then back to the sea creatures in front of him. He managed a sheepish smile as he uttered the words he hoped would save his life.

"Parlay?"

* * *

Cutler Beckett was dumped on the deck onto his hands and knees. Immediately Will Turner appeared in front of him, eyes glowing red and barnacles pulsating on all exposed flesh. Beckett raised his head slowly to gaze upon Will Turner's new visage, which was considerably worse than it had been the last time they had met. Turner looked positively evil now, his red eyes punctuated with black pupils, skin a sea of barnacles, fingernails the opacity and color of crab shells. The former lord made no motion to stand up and simply scanned the deck and its current inhabitants with his mouth half open.

Joana lie on the deck covered in blood, with Jack Sparrow cradling her head. Mr. Gibbs sat nearby, holding bloodsoaked sheets, more than likely from a sail, to Joana's abdomen. Other crewmembers of the _Dutchman_ including Bootstrap Bill remained close to Jack's injured daughter. Thomas Morgan was leaning up against the gunwale, his hand lingering near his sidearm. Only Elizabeth was moving, slowly approaching from the bow, her eyes simultaneously fearful and enraged. It was an ugly and terrifying sight.

"You are to die today by my hand," Will Turner stated. "You will wish you would have died aboard the _Endeavour_ because your death will be slow and painful."

"Will—" Elizabeth interjected, touching his arm. She didn't make any eye contact with Beckett but looked uncomfortable at the notion of him dying in front of her. "Wait…" Will pulled away from the contact.

"May I say something?" Beckett asked. Turner ignored him and continued speaking.

"First, you shall be introduced to the _Flying Dutchman_ in the manner that I was introduced. Koleniko, Clanker—set him up against the rigging." He turned to face his boatswain. "Bo'sun, you will give him ten of your best."

"No need, I can stand up on my own," Beckett said as politely as possible, subtly shifting the heart towards the front of his body. He silently praised himself for tying the circular map to his chest; otherwise, it would be detected and/or destroyed. With that, Beckett stood up and made his way towards the rigging, flanked closely by Koleniko and Clanker. Sighing, Beckett placed his hands on the rigging at shoulder width. His head dropped and he shut his eyes tightly, awaiting this punishment. Jack, Elizabeth, and Bootstrap gasped with surprise. Did Beckett not realize the severity of this whipping? The Bo'sun prided himself on cleaving flesh from bone….

"Will, Dr. Stillwell is on his way," Elizabeth said, leaning over the gunwale. "There are more important matters at hand."

"Bo'sun, did I change my order?" Will blurted.

The blow landed on Cutler Beckett's back with a force that took his breath away and caused him to be crushed against the rigging. He scrunched his eyelids shut as tears involuntarily erupted from them. A yelp escaped his lips at the same time that a similar sound escaped Will's lips.

"What's wrong, Will?" Elizabeth asked, having heard the noise from her husband.

"I don't know," Will stammered. His focus moved back towards Beckett. "Bo'sun, another."

The second blow landed, and Beckett found himself shaking from the pain. He had also bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, and he saw stars when he finally opened his eyes. Beckett clung to the rigging, his body rigid from the bone-shattering agony. He could feel hot torrents of blood streaming down his back, sea air blowing through the slashes in the back of his frockcoat. Again, he and Will cried out in pain together.

Now Will was staring suspiciously at Beckett. He didn't even turn to address Dr. Stillwell, who hastily passed the infant boy to Elizabeth as he made his way for Joana's still form.

"What is going on here?" Will demanded, clutching his chest. "Turn around, Beckett."

Elizabeth spoke up. "Will, your son is—"

"Can't you see that I'm busy?" Will growled. Beckett was now facing Turner, his face streaked with what appeared to be tears, his chest heaving with each painful breath. Will turned back to the former lord. "I don't know what is happening here, but I want some answers. Now."

Beckett cleared his throat and wiped off his face with the back of his hand before beginning to speak.

"I admit that I have wronged you," Beckett began, "and as an apology, I have brought with me this day an item in which you hold considerable interest."

"I can rule out now that you do not possess the Dead Man's Chest," Will said with a scoff. "There is nothing else that interests me."

Beckett lifted his arm and reached into his frockcoat, his fingers slipping around the slimy, beating object on his person. He smirked to himself at what would certainly be amazement from Turner. It didn't take much to impress the boy.

"Captain Turner, come quickly!" a voice suddenly called out. Beckett froze in place to look over at Dr. Stillwell, who had his face very close to Joana Sparrow's face. Jack looked much like he had looked when Will had been stabbed with Davy Jones's sword. He could only gape down at his daughter, who was turning an alarming shade of white.

"What is it?" Will spat, not bothering to turn towards the doctor. "I am bu—"

"It's Miss Sparrow," Dr. Stillwell answered. "Come; there isn't much time!"

* * *

Will immediately teleported to the auburn-haired girl lying on the deck, leaving Beckett to stand by the rigging with his hand still in his coat. Joana had become extremely pale and was breathing in shallow gasps. Her eyes were shut and she wasn't moving.

"Joana—you can fight this," Will cried, crouching down on the deck beside her. "Doctor, can't you help her?"

"She's too far gone, Captain Turner. You should stay with her right now; I think I heard her say your name before she shut her eyes."

"Isn't there anything you can do? Doctor, you have to save her!" he exclaimed, growing ever louder and desperate. "Please—I need her!"

"Will," a tiny voice whispered.

Will looked at Joana's face to see that she was speaking, though her eyes were still closed.

"It won't be… much more," she murmured.

"Don't say that," Will replied, ignoring everything else going on around him. "Don't leave me. I only just met you. You can make it through this."

"It was Morgan… shot. Let me stay…."

"What?" Will blurted. "Morgan shot you?"

"Yes, let me stay…."

Will shot a venomous glance towards Morgan, who was now aware that his deeds had been revealed. Turner faced Joana once more to address her second statement.

"Let you stay where?"

"Here…. Postpone…"

"What?"

In Will's confusion, Bootstrap stood over him and explained.

"It sounds to me like she wants to join your crew, William," he said.

"I can't do that to her!" Will exclaimed. "It's a horrible existence."

"No," Joana whispered. "Quero que… este."

"Was that Portuguese?" Turner questioned. "I don't know what she said."

"She said she wants this," Beckett immediately replied. Will shot him a look of ire but his thoughts quickly focused back on Joana.

"Ask her, William!" Jack exclaimed. "She wants to live!" he added, swinging his arms wildly about. "It's my bloody fault she's here anyway. Do it!"

With that, Will touched Joana's hand and held it in his own. Her hand was frighteningly cold. Even so, the barnacles of his hand disappeared with each contact point to her skin, but he didn't notice. He had a difficult proposal to make of her. From their position across the ship, Elizabeth and Beckett could only stare in astonishment at what was transpiring in the middle of the deck.

"I offer you a choice," Will began, his voice breaking as he murmured the words to her, his lips only inches from her ear. "Join my crew, and postpone the judgment. One hundred years before the mast. Will you serve?"

Joana muttered something unintelligible with her last breath and was still.

* * *

"Did she say yes?" Jack immediately blurted, half hysterical. "You would've been the one to hear her, William. Did she agree?"

Will Turner stared down at Joana's motionless form, tears running silently down his cheeks, creating lines of normal skin in their wake.

"I didn't hear a yes or a no," Will admitted with great sadness. "I was too late…."

"Don't make the same mistake again," a man's voice snarled. The sound of a cocking pistol marred the silence of the deck.

At the sound of the spiteful voice, Will released Joana's hand and turned to where Morgan had been sitting—only he wasn't leaning against the gunwale anymore. While everyone had been focused on Joana and Will, Thomas Morgan had silently crept behind Elizabeth. Morgan had the barrel of his pistol pressed against Elizabeth's temple, his other hand possessively clutching the leg of the infant in Elizabeth's arms.


	39. Departure

**A/N: Thanks to all of you loyal readers! I have completed this (long) chapter and have but one chapter left! Please let me feedback!**

* * *

Admiral Morgan stood behind Elizabeth, aiming his pistol at her as he squared off against Will Turner.

"Captain Turner, you've nothing left but this woman and this child," Morgan spat, "You will order her to give me the key to the Dead Man's Chest or they will both die."

Will glared at Thomas Morgan, his red eyes flashing, a rather terrifying sight that didn't seem to faze the calm Admiral of the Royal Navy.

"Do you think this is some kind of jest?" Morgan commented. "I will not give you the chance to convert either of your family members to one of your fellow beasts."

Cutler Beckett stood in front of the rigging, gaping at these most recent occurrences. A green flash appeared in the sky and his gaze fell to the lifeless Joana and then right back to Elizabeth. Neither Will nor Elizabeth had the key, that he had ensured. He recalled having shoved the key into his boot after using it to open the Dead Man's Chest in Admiral Morgan's office. Surely Elizabeth had nothing to lose by divulging the bearer of the key to Turner. It was essential that he act before Turner realized where the key was.

Of course, there was one problem: Will Turner still believed the heart to be in the chest. If Beckett should give the key to Admiral Morgan, then Turner would probably kill him immediately.

Elizabeth's eyes shot over to Beckett's, horror in her eyes. He scrutinized her fearful stare. Had she told her husband of the key? Her eyes darted over to Will, confirming that she had indeed done so. Time was running out.

"I have the key," Beckett announced, quickly bending down to fetch the item from his boot. Will glared at him with utter animosity as he pulled the strange piece of metal from its hiding place. No good could come if Morgan was granted the opportunity to search his person. Beckett stood up quickly and spoke. "Now, let Elizabeth and her son go or I will drop this in the harbour." He moved deftly towards the gunwale and dangled the key over the side of the ship.

"How can I believe that that object is the key?" Morgan scoffed. "And how am I to believe that you, a fugitive with no allies but your own bloody sister, came by the key to the Dead Man's Chest?"

"You forget that I was captured by the pirates," Beckett said with a smirk. "I stole the key from Mrs. Turner without her knowledge."

If Will could have murdered Beckett with a glare, Beckett would have died a thousand times over. Elizabeth could only stare at Beckett, wide-eyed as she attempted to figure out his strategy. Was he now a triple-crosser, first stealing the key from her and now dooming her husband?

"Is the chest not in your possession?" Beckett asked. "Could you not have your men fetch it to verify the key?"

"Have you not been paying attention?" Morgan said with a sneer. "Of course the chest is in my possession."

Beckett shifted on his feet, glad that he'd shown the key before he'd had all of his treasures revealed—the heart, Sao Feng's map…

"If that is so, why do you stand where you are?" Beckett said with forced confidence, still holding the key over the side of the ship. "Why not take the key and head to your bonny chest?"

"Because I rather like my position where I stand," Morgan replied. "I have the upper hand. I can always have my men try the key on the chest while I remain vigilant here."

"Oh, is that so? What if the key is lost among the dead and dying on the dock? Much like it is now?"

With that, Beckett threw the key off of the bow of the ship to the docks below. There was a chance that it would simply fall through a gaping hole in the dock and sink under the water, but there was another chance that Morgan would rush to the bow and notice its sheen as it lay near some civilian or perhaps even an opportunistic pirate.

Morgan watched the key fly over his head, and immediately released his hold on Elizabeth, moving for the bow and searching the docks below. As the admiral turned his back on Elizabeth, she, with hands full of her son, viciously kicked his pistol out of his hand and it clattered to the deck. Will Turner grabbed the weapon with his starfish hand.

The admiral turned his head to notice that Captain Turner was now holding his weapon. He had been hastily rendered unarmed and was very likely to be killed if he stayed on board. The approach of a group of mounted men confirmed his next move. These were his men, surely arriving with the Dead Man's Chest.

Before anyone could shoot Admiral Morgan, he jumped over the bow to the ground below.

* * *

Will Turner immediately teleported to stand face to face with Beckett, who wasn't sure how to broach the subject of the heart actually being with _him_.

"You have not only betrayed Elizabeth but you have also betrayed me," Will growled. "I'm not to give you an easy death," he added, swinging Morgan's pistol around. Instead of aiming it, the captain of the _Dutchman_ let it clatter to the ground, too far away for Beckett to reach in his current position. "You will be tortured and you will beg to die."

"How unoriginal," Beckett commented. "I've already been tortured and I've already welcomed death." He shrugged languidly. "I've come to believe that death doesn't want me."

Suddenly, Will clamped his starfish hand around Beckett's neck, the suction cups pulling painfully at his skin and crab shell fingernails digging into his flesh. Beckett let out an involuntary choked yelp, realizing that Turner had beaten him to his grand reveal.

"It is fitting that you should die by my hand," Will said. "My hands do not tire and will slowly choke the life out of you."

Beckett attempted to speak but could barely breathe. His hands fumbled awkwardly with his coat as he struggled for breath. He could feel his feet leaving the deck. Was this how his life would end, on the knife-edge of redemption? Slowly he felt his vision grow ever foggier, and now it was difficult to see a wide-eyed Elizabeth in the midst of the fog. He wouldn't fight this—he'd fought fate several times over and he was tired. He'd lost the person most dear to him: Elizabeth hated him. Not only that, but his sister had forgiven all his indiscretions over the years. He'd welcome fate this time….

"Wait, Captain!" a voice called out. Beckett felt a hand touch his arm. He attempted to blink the fog away, and instead saw red.

"Leave me alone," Will cautioned.

"Give him a chance to speak!" the female voice said, the voice tinged with a foreign accent.

Will whirled around to see a living Joana before him, her red hair filling his vision; however, he did not release his grip on Beckett's neck. Joana touched Will on the shoulder and he shuddered.

"I think I hate Beckett more than you do," she explained in halting English. "If not for him, my mother would live. But I wonder why he came back? He might have a good reason."

Will stared at her.

"You're alive," he muttered, a smile appearing on his face.

"Sort of," she replied. "Please, just see what he says first."

Suddenly, Will released his ironclad hold on Beckett's neck, causing Beckett to collapse to the deck gasping for air. He sat there longer than deemed necessary, knowing that he'd have to save his air to talk.

"Talk then," Will growled. "You've not much time. I have to go to the dock and fetch the bloody key you so flippantly threw away after—"

"You needn't go anywhere," Beckett panted. "I have it."

Turner made a scoffing sound, his red eyes rolling in their sockets.

"I saw you throw it. That was the key, as you should be well-aware."

"…the heart," Beckett murmured. With that, he reached under his arm and clutched the slippery organ. He pulled it out from under his ruined frockcoat and held it out to the captain of the _Dutchman_. "It's yours…"

Will stared down quizzically at the heart. It was the first time he had actually seen it. Immediately he felt a rush of strong emotions that nearly drove him to break down into tears.

"Get it away from me," Will growled, his voice breaking as he backed away. "I cannot stand the sight of it." He turned to the dreadlocked pirate. "Jack, would you like to become captain of the _Dutchman_? I invite you, no—in fact, I _beg_ you to stab my heart."

"I've changed me mind about that, mate," Jack admitted. "I can only imagine wot my dreadlocks would look like in fish form. Tentacles, more than likely."

"Do you not want your heart back?" Beckett asked Turner, crestfallen. He'd expected some anger, maybe even some excitement from the man, but certainly not despair.

A hand reached out and took the heart from Beckett. It was Joana's hand.

"I'll take care of it," she said, cradling the beating organ like a newborn. "It'll be safe with me."

Will could only look confused.

"You are bound to the ship," he informed the girl. "Even if I wanted you to do so, you cannot keep the heart here."

"Why not? Can the chest not travel between worlds?" she asked.

With that, Will and Joana looked towards Bootstrap.

"I've no idea," Bootstrap murmured. "It's never been attempted before."

"We can try," Joana offered. Will turned back to her and shook his head adamantly.

"I cannot stand to have it around me. It's much like having a sword pressed into my back. I forbid you to keep the heart."

"But if you can feel happy again, you will not mind it being near."

"How will I ever feel happy again?" Will snarled. "My wife has betrayed me, I cannot see my son more than once every ten years, and my worst enemies are all alive and well."

"I can take care of one of 'em," Jack slurred, walking towards Beckett, who was still in a semi-seated position on the deck. "He has no bargaining chips now an' he has no monetary value to anyone. Not only that, but my latest arrest an' brush wiv death was his fault."

Jack quickly picked up the gun Will had discarded, and cocked it.

"Don't take my killing you personally," Jack said with a toothy grin. "I saved you once from th' hangman's noose so I in fact owe you nothing. You've become a burden, mate. As you know, this is just, as you'd say, good business."

"But I _do_ have a bargaining chip for you," Beckett explained.

"Oh, is that so? Pray tell," Jack sneered.

"Only if you refrain from killing me," Beckett replied. "It is quite a valuable bargaining chip. To you I'm certain it is worth far more than my life."

"How about I see this chip an' _then_ I decide its worth?"

"I'm sure he speaks the truth," Elizabeth spoke up.

Beckett looked at her with hope, but her expression was sour as she continued.

"He had Will's heart and the key to the Dead Man's Chest. It seems as if he's been spending this _entire_ time collecting valuable items with which to bargain, so I'm certain you will not be disappointed." With that she shot Beckett a glare. He returned her glare with a rather guilty look.

"What will it be?" Beckett murmured, finally rising to his feet. "My life or a long-gone treasure?"

"How have you gotten away wiv living for so long?" Jack asked with incredulity, stroking his chin with a hand. "I rather wonder why you never went pirate."

"Did I not?" Beckett replied. "I would argue that I did."

"Is this treasure you possess… rum?" Jack said. "Cause I've stocked up th' _Pearl_ wiv it for weeks to come."

"No."

"Fine, wot is it?"

"We must shake on the promise that you will not kill me, and only then will I show you the treasure."

With that, Beckett held out his hand, a grim expression on his face. Jack stared at Beckett's hand.

"This alleged treasure better not be a bullet from one of your little pearl-handled pistols," Jack muttered.

"On my word, it is not."

"Then you'll be perfectly compliant wiv my preparing for said bullet by holding my aim on you," Jack propositioned.

"Fine."

* * *

When Beckett finally revealed Sao Feng's map, Jack's eyes grew wide with confusion.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, holding the map at various angles as if to check its veracity. He turned the circles, ensuring that no one could see the shapes and words that appeared as the circles moved.

"From the _Black Pearl_, of course," Beckett replied, "buried beneath a mountain of rum bottles. A miracle it survived. Is it not a treasure to you?"

"It will only be a treasure once I'm back on th' _Pearl_ an' using it to choose my next heading."

"Ah, that brings me to some unfortunate news that would have been told to you earlier, had you agreed to my proposal sooner. Captain Barbossa has commandeered your _Pearl_. If you leave now, you may be able to reclaim it."

* * *

Admiral Thomas Morgan stood on the docks with the key to the Dead Man's Chest in his hand, smiling as his men approached on horseback. They had taken a while longer than he had expected them to, but now he would get to see the heart and truly hold it hostage. He waved his hands as they approached, but then his expression changed from excited to nervous. They were all holding their guns and some seemed to be aiming their guns in his direction.

"Did you bring the chest?" Admiral Morgan shouted at the men as several of them dismounted.

"No, but we did find out some troubling information involving the murder of Admiral Kensington."

"Murder? I think you misspoke," Morgan replied.

"What you heard is correct. Thomas Morgan, you are hereby under arrest for the murder of Admiral Kensington pending judgment."

Admiral Morgan was stunned, and blinked several times in utter astonishment. He couldn't even move a muscle.

"What in God's name are you talking about?" he sputtered. "Admiral Kensington passed away naturally. He was an old man. I will not go quietly!"

Morgan broke out into a cold sweat as he saw his wife step out of a carriage several dozen metres away with his daughter Kitty. Also in the carriage with his wife was an officer of the Royal Navy. Had she discovered the mercury and made the connection?

Julia Morgan strode towards him, holding Kitty's hand.

"Your bloody mercury almost killed our daughter!" she yelled. "How could you be so wicked, Thomas?! How could you?!"

Morgan's eyes moved from his wife's down to his daughter's eyes. She still looked awfully pale and he couldn't stop staring at her.

"If you won't go quietly, we will have to force you to go," the head Royal Navy man replied. A second man readied his musket. "Come now, Mr. Morgan."

"Admiral," he muttered, cringing as they placed him into shackles. "Admiral Morgan."

* * *

"Joana, I'm glad you're still partly in th' land of th' living," Jack said to his daughter. He pulled the young woman into his arms and gave her a lingering hug. "Perhaps in ten years we can reunite. We can drink rum an' sing me favorite song. Would you like that?"

"I would," Joana replied.

"Then it's set. I'll be around these waters… somewhere," he trailed off. Jack next turned to Elizabeth Turner.

"Elizabeth, good luck to you," he said. "I'll probably see you sooner or later—maybe in Tortuga, eh?"

"Perhaps," she replied.

"Will," Jack stated, "take care of my daughter."

"I will," the captain replied. Jack next looked at Cutler Beckett.

"An' Beckett—count yourself lucky that you managed to find this map. Otherwise, you'd be in Will Turner's locker right about now."

Turner rolled his eyes, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"Right," Beckett replied. "Well, you'd better get on intercepting your ship."

Jack turned to Mr. Gibbs, who had largely been taking in the drama of the day. They strode to the ladder on the ship's port side.

"Let's get the _Pearl_ back, Mr. Gibbs," Jack suggested. "By the way, have you by any chance seen Ayla?"

"Last I saw she was crawling onto the dock, Cap'n. What're ye fixin' to do with her?"

"I told her I'd take her back to Constantinople an' that's th' first thing I'll do wiv th' _Pearl_," Jack explained. "Then I find us a heading wiv my map." He tucked the circular map into his frockcoat and he and Gibbs hastily departed the ship.

* * *

After Jack Sparrow disembarked, Beckett was left alone with Elizabeth and her son, Dr. Stillwell, Captain Turner, Joana Sparrow, and an assortment of _Dutchman_ crew. Turner still looked positively murderous but he had calmed down significantly since nearly choking him to death.

"Shall we return to our duties?" Joana commented to Will. "Perhaps we will turn human again."

"That seems to be a reasonable course of action," Will replied. "There is nothing left for me here." With that, he shot a hurt glance at Elizabeth and their son.

"What of your son?" Elizabeth asked. "Do you not wish to see him?"

"You are not willing to wait for me," Will grumbled. Elizabeth watched as Joana sighed with sadness.

"Will," Elizabeth began, "When you return every ten years I will be there at the island where you left me and you can spend the day with your son."

"That is not a bad arrangement," Joana interjected. "You can see your child grow up. I was not able to see my mother again. Let's go, Captain. We have work to do."

Turner looked at the skinny redheaded woman, her clothes in tatters. She seemed to only have eyes for him, but he was still too freshly wounded by his treacherous wife. Even so, Joana's devotion towards him was heartwarming. To stay with him she had delayed her own death, an event that would have surely resulted in her reuniting with her beloved mother. Her level of devotion for him rivaled the kind of devotion he showed Elizabeth.

"As I've said before, I insist that you call me Will."

"But I am a mere crewmember of your ship," she replied. "I don't expect you to treat me differently."

"You are different than them," Will explained, gesticulating with his human hands and arms. "You postponed reuniting with your mother in the next world to stay… with me."

"Yes," she replied. "I did."

* * *

"Take care of him, Elizabeth," Will said, kissing his son on the head. As he held his son, Will's arms began looking more humanoid, and soon his starfish hands were completely that of a man. He bade his baby goodbye as Dr. Stillwell, Elizabeth and baby Will, and Beckett disembarked.

The unlikely group stood on the destroyed charred docks of Southampton Harbour as they watched the _Flying Dutchman_ sail off into the English Channel. Elizabeth stood silently with her baby in her arms as the sun set on their faces. Beckett quietly shooed away Dr. Stillwell, who retreated from the docks, leaving only Cutler Beckett, Elizabeth Turner, and her infant son watching the sunset. The craggy _Dutchman_ soon left their line of sight and the green flash was readily apparent to both Elizabeth and Cutler, a sign that the ship was now between worlds.

It was then that Cutler Beckett turned to Elizabeth. She remained in her position and did not so much as turn her head.

"I have something to confess," Beckett murmured. Elizabeth said nothing and did not so much as acknowledge his words.

"I did take the key from you, but it was so that I could end Turner's anguish and let him return to his duties."

"So it was so you could again be alone with me," she said with an angrily locked jaw, still looking out to sea.

"Yes," he admitted. "It was not to betray you _or_ Turner. My plans were to do exactly as I have done today. Return the heart to Turner and return the map to Sparrow. And show you this."

With that, he took the letter from his father out of his frockcoat pocket. He visibly cringed from the pain of the frockcoat touching the fresh wounds on his back. Blood still seemed to be streaming from the wound. His dark frockcoat was warm and wet and saturated with blood.

"Do you remember this letter?" he asked her quietly. Elizabeth did not turn her head so he held it in front of her face briefly. "I am destroying it," he said. He tore the paper in half and then folded it and tore it in half again. Sighing, he threw the papers into the harbor. "My inheritance means nothing to me," he remarked quietly.

"Do you expect me to forget all your treachery, all your secretive behavior?" Elizabeth growled, finally turning to face him. "You _used_ me to gain access to the key. You _attempted_ to use me to gain access to your inheritance. Don't deny it."

"Did I not just explain to you the purpose of all my supposed transgressions?" he said, grunting with exertion. "Perhaps I was once an irredeemable bastard, but the situation changed. I saved your life—at least twice. I saved your child's life. I saved Turner's… existence. Is that not enough?"

"You forget that I also saved your life—at least three times," Elizabeth muttered. "Do you not remember your failure aboard the _Endeavour_? Your condition after the whipping? Your encounter with the hangman's noose on Port Royal?"

Cutler smiled broadly as he shook his head.

"I still count four major lifesaving events on my side and three on yours. Not only that, but your second rescue was from a condition you yourself put me in. So that leaves our situation quite unbalanced indeed."

"I don't care," Elizabeth mumbled, readjusting the position of the baby boy in her arms. "I owe you nothing and you owe me nothing. You and I have no future."

"I cannot acquiesce to that," Beckett replied, grimacing. "You rescued me from the _Endeavour_ to show me an existence in your world. I grew to rather enjoy that world and I know you cared for me. Now you are snatching that world from me? You are unspeakably cruel, Elizabeth."

She looked mildly amused.

"If that is so, why do you not go your own way? I am not threatening your life, nor attempting to get you arrested. You are free."

"But I don't wish to be," he replied in a low voice, clasping his hands behind his back and shutting his eyes in pain. It was a mistake, for his skin was largely removed from the two large gashes the Bo'sun had made. He wiped the warm liquid from the backs of his hands as he held his hands away from his body. "I wish to be with you… and take care of you and your son. I have already told you… that I would raise him as my own."

"Do you think I cannot handle being alone?" Elizabeth growled. "I have survived these past trying years quite well, if I do say so myself."

"With the help of Turner and Sparrow, of course," Beckett explained, allowing his arms to again fall at his sides. "Turner now has Miss Sparrow. You have no one and you have to find a home and money quickly if not for your sake, then for the sake of your son. You have no family, no connections—"

"And _you_ do?" she shouted at him. "You told me you have rejected your inheritance! Is that yet another deception on your part?"

"Decidedly not," he replied, sighing with exasperation. "Elizabeth, why must you be so difficult—"

"We have nothing left to say to one another," Elizabeth huffed. "Goodbye, Mr. Beckett."

With that, she turned and strode towards Southampton, her son sleeping in her arms.

* * *

Beckett stood on the dock, staring at the back of Elizabeth Turner as she walked away. _Why can she not forgive me?_ _She is not an angel, by any means. She was unfaithful to her husband, betrayed Jack Sparrow to perish with his ship, and nearly beat me to death on more than one occasion._

He thought of how his sister had forgiven him for his transgressions, how she'd hugged him and allowed him to stay in her home, in spite of his poor treatment of her over the years. _I have somehow attained redemption with my sister, the pirates, the _Flying Dutchman_, and the law. Why must Elizabeth be so stubborn? _

It was beginning to be more difficult to see where Elizabeth was heading and he would soon lose her in the sprawling harbour city. Not only that, but the gashes that had been left in his back seemed to be far more serious than what Barbossa and Elizabeth had inflicted on him and were even now, still bleeding freely. He felt rather lightheaded but attempted to ignore the sensation. Instead, he began to walk slowly in Elizabeth's direction, pondering.

_Why can't I make Elizabeth forget her hatred for me? It was as if something changed instantaneously in my sister when I apologized…_

He almost slapped himself in the face. _An apology…._

* * *

"Elizabeth," Beckett called out, staring intently at her back. "Elizabeth, please stop."

"What do you want?" she said through gritted teeth, keeping her back turned. Beckett jogged until he was beside her. Now his dizziness was palpable.

"I'm a fool," he said, touching her arm to steady himself. "I devised schemes and concocted elaborate plans without informing you, without telling you that their only purpose was to win you."

"You can't win me," Elizabeth retorted. "My love is only earned."

"Then I attempted to earn it in all the wrong ways," he explained. "That being said, I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you. I truly am."

She stopped walking and looked over at him with suspicion in her eyes.

"I've done so much wrong to you, I shouldn't… expect you to forgive me," he said. "I will take whatever punishment you see fit with full acceptance. I shouldn't hope to earn a prize like you after all that I've done…."

"All that you've done, yes—you had my father killed, you attempted to kill all of us aboard the _Black Pearl_, you attempted to have Will and I hanged on not one but several occasions, you were responsible for the death of Joana's mother, you stole the key my husband entrusted to me from my bloody neck while I _slept_, you provoked this entire pirate war in which I have been close to death several—"

"I know," he interrupted dryly. His head dropped low, and he stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped. "Do you know what helped my sister to forgive me?"

"Money?" Elizabeth retorted.

"No—I let her slap me, several times, on several occasions. That seemed to do the trick with her."

"I'm not that easy to win over," Elizabeth said. "She is your family and may feel obligated to forgive you."

"_You're_ my family," Beckett responded with gritted teeth, the salty sea wind raking across his wounded back. "You and your son. I want nothing else in the world."

"You always were one to want too much," she said.

"I suppose," he replied. With that, he fell to the ground face-first, losing consciousness.

* * *

"That's not funny," Elizabeth said, glaring down at the back of his head. Her gaze then traveled to his back—was that a rib bone she was seeing within the two terrible gashes in Beckett's back?

Elizabeth quickly placed William Jr. on the ground and knelt next to Beckett's head.

"Wake up," she said, shaking his shoulders. "Get up so we can get you to a doctor." He didn't move.

Now she was becoming increasingly alarmed. She slapped the back of his head. Nothing. Surely he would move if she touched the wound….

Nothing. Cutler Beckett was unresponsive.

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhanger! One more chapter! I have it half-written already! Please review if you are still reading this story!**


	40. Getting Even

**A/N: Spoiler alert: this chapter is naughty and a bit steamy! Not telling between who! But beware! And don't read this at work! Also, this chapter is pretty darn long and is the last one! **

* * *

Chapter 40 – Getting Even

* * *

"Come on, Beckett!" Elizabeth shouted at the still body on the ground. "Get up! Wake up, you bloody fool!"

With that, she gave him a rather stinging slap to the wound. He arched his head up and screamed in pain, his head immediately landing on the ground chin-first with a sickening clattering sound.

"There you are! Get up! We have to get you to a doctor!" Elizabeth shouted.

"Let me die," Beckett muttered, his voice hoarse. "Let me lie here and be found by Royal Navy—I don't care."

"That's just stupid!" she exclaimed.

"You were a good pirate—you kept your friends close but your enemy closer…." He shut his eyes tightly, his jaw clacking on the ground. "Obviously I can never be anything but your enemy and I have received my just… punishment now. The pain… is truly… unbearable. Goodbye, Elizabeth."

"I won't let you die here!"

He was still.

"Beckett! You're not going to die on me!"

She turned him to the side now, pulling his arm out of his frockcoat. When she attempted to lift the article of clothing, it was extremely heavy, completely soaked with blood. Elizabeth stared at it in horror.

* * *

Beckett awoke to a heavy obstruction lying on his body, his limbs numb and unmoving. He opened his eyes to find only darkness. Not a sound could be heard.

_Now I am truly dead. I am absolutely certain of it. I wonder if Turner spotted me traveling between worlds to whatever this existence is. Apparently Jack Sparrow returned from the locker; perhaps this is what he escaped…._

He attempted to lick his lips but his tongue was bone dry. His arms were still immobile.

_Fate is cruel. I am forever locked in a useless body, unable to do much else but exist. _

All of a sudden a small light appeared in the room, illuminating a small oval-shaped area around it, the area not revealing anything but loose whitish fabric. Beckett's eyes greedily took in their first sensation since his collapse at the harbour. The light was being carried by a person with a candle. It approached him, causing his pupils to constrict in an almost painful manner.

"You're awake," the person said, and now Beckett's ears could differentiate the sounds to learn that the voice had arisen from a woman, a familiar woman.

Elizabeth came into view, the candlelight illuminating her face. She had bags under her eyes and looked deeply troubled; however, there was a smile on her lips.

Cutler could do no more than nod his head. His mouth was still parched and he again tried to lick his lips. Either he had survived or Elizabeth had died as well.

"You've been unconscious for a week," Elizabeth explained quietly. "I thought you would die."

She waited for a response from the man, but there was no verbal reply. Beckett could only stare at her, amazed that she was actually present. Now his eyes wandered around the room—it was plain and sparsely decorated and appeared to be a spare bedroom of a small cottage. He was certainly not at his sister's home.

"Can you not speak?" Elizabeth asked. Beckett's eyes focused back on hers as she spoke and he shook his head, moving his tongue around his lips to indicate dryness.

"Ah, so your mouth has dried out," she said. "You slept with your mouth open, which was most likely the cause. It'll be fine," she said. "I may as well take this rare opportunity of your silence to speak to you."

He rolled his eyes as she prepared to talk.

"I spoke with your sister Julia," Elizabeth said. "She told me what you did for her daughter, for her family. You did a very noble thing. I also now understand your close family connection to the admiral, which led you to believe that you had a strong chance to obtain the heart."

Cutler began to grin in spite of himself.

"However, I hate the fact that you didn't feel it important to tell me all this before taking the key from me," Elizabeth added.

Now Beckett was opening his mouth in an attempt to speak through his dried-out mouth. She took a glass of water from the floor and gave it to him to drink, which he quickly did, soaking his dried-out tongue in the liquid. Finally he was able to speak.

"I avoid sharing my intentions," he began in a raspy yet deep voice. "My entire life has been spent working towards the top. One cannot divulge freely in that situation."

He smiled at her then, a cocky, self-important smile, as he pulled the bedcovers up under his neck. Elizabeth frowned.

"I happen to believe that you staged this elaborate and long lapse of consciousness because you knew very well that it had worked in previous instances. You knew it was the only way that I would remain near you."

Her statement clearly amused Cutler to no end.

"Ah yes, you've discovered my secret," he said, brightening considerably. "I planned on being flogged to within an inch of my life in the happenstance that you would spurn my other, less dramatic gestures, like tearing up the sole certification of my inheritance."

Elizabeth squinted at Cutler Beckett with suspicion as he lie on the bed in Dr. Stillwell's guestroom.

"I can't tell if you are being sarcastic or telling me the truth," she admitted.

"Do you not know me well enough to figure it out?" he replied, pulling himself to a seated position. "Did you not see the wounds? I have not seen them and yet I can confidently infer that they are extremely deep."

"I have been tending to them all week and they are indeed deep," Elizabeth admitted. "However, you have survived quite a range of wounds with relatively little effort—episodes of near drowning, being shot in the shoulder, your ghastly leg wound, two savage whippings…"

Cutler recalled that second of two whippings, which although painful, did not immediately invoke the adjective 'savage;' it in fact invoked a rather different series of sensations. Elizabeth had administered this particular punishment to him in a rather intimate setting. Simply remembering that occasion brought back those feelings of forbidden longing.

"It would seem that my survivability should be a testament to my _stamina_, not to my cunning," he remarked. "I did not plan this."

"Perhaps not the wound, but the lying here helpless for an entire week. You would not have survived this time had I not fetched Dr. Stillwell. You bled right through your frockcoat."

"Then it is you, again, that have saved me," he replied, a catlike grin on his face. "You cannot rid yourself of me."

"I suppose I cannot," she admitted, her mouth drawn into a tight line. She shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Marry me," he responded, his face suddenly serious. At that he grabbed her hand and held it in his own. "We can live in England and you can send your son to the best schools in the world. We will have a content life here."

"Why do you want to marry me?" she questioned. "You saw what happened with Will. Surely you cannot trust me."

"But I _can_ trust you," he replied, his face exuding confidence. "Turner is an innocent boy-child and you are a complex woman. I am a complex man."

Elizabeth gave him a look of amusement, but he was not finished speaking.

"I know the urges that drive you to do the things you do—to rebel, to seek adventure. I can fulfill these urges."

Again she was amused.

"How so?" she asked him. "You are bedridden now, and I cannot be certain you will ever walk again."

He shot her a look of challenge and shifted his legs out of the bed, pulling himself to a standing position with slight effort. He was wearing a pair of dark breeches and a billowy white shirt far too large for him, more than likely Dr. Stillwell's shirt. His feet were bare and his dark blond hair was askew in its messy ponytail. After regaining some semblance of his normal ramrod-straight posture, he looked over at her.

"There, Elizabeth, I have proven that I am still able-bodied," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "As I was explaining to you, I will honour any desire deemed reasonable and attainable. And I will also tell you when you've gone too far."

"That sounds thrilling," she said in a bored voice, rolling her eyes. "Are you actually attempting to drive me back to Will?"

"I'm afraid Mister Turner is not capable of telling you when you've gone too far, and thus you did go too far."

"And you think _you_ can stop me from doing whatever I want?" she scoffed incredulously.

"I know I can stop you," he replied coolly. "If you go too far, I will punish you."

"Ha!" she spat involuntarily, almost guffawing. "You cannot punish me!"

"I have done so before and I will do so whenever I feel a punishment is warranted." The corner of Beckett's mouth displayed a ghost of a smile. He walked over to the door of the small room and shut it, taking several steps towards Elizabeth with hands behind him.

"I will not listen to any man," Elizabeth asserted. "I have learned through interactions with all the men in my life that I answer to no one."

"You will be glad to answer to _me_," Beckett replied. "You are being quite mouthy, Elizabeth. It would seem that you are itching for punishment. It has been quite some time since you've been taught a lesson."

"You cannot be serious," she said, almost guffawing. "You do realize that we are in someone's house, no less, with my son sleeping in the next room."

"All the better to enforce such a lesson," he replied coolly. "So, are you not relieved that you are done being pregnant and fragile? Now we can resume where we left off in the brig of the _Black Pearl_ so many months ago."

"I don't know what you are speaking of," she said in a loud voice. She then quieted down considerably, hissing at him as she spoke. "Do you think this is the sort of talk that will win me over? What happened to your humility and empty promises?"

"I attempted to use them but they clearly don't work on you," he replied, grinning with mild amusement. "Rather, I think you are the type of woman who, although perfectly capable of leading and making crucial decisions, does not always want to do so."

"How can you say that?" she spat. "_I_ decided to rescue you from the _Endeavour_, _I_ decided to save you from your flogging wounds and to save you from the gallows in Port Royal. Not only that but once again, _I_ decided to save you from certain death."

"And yet _I_ will be the one to do this," he replied. She looked at him with puzzlement.

"What?" she squawked.

With that Cutler Beckett leaned forward and kissed Elizabeth, a deep kiss that was soon accompanied by the movement of his hands to the small of her back where he pulled her against him. She made a small grunt of protest which quickly dissipated as he angled his mouth precisely over her own. Elizabeth could sense that Beckett was quite stimulated by the circumstances, and could not help but notice the sizable bulge pressed tightly against the union of her thigh and body. A deep throbbing from within her took her by surprise; it had been many months since she'd felt this way.

Elizabeth's breathing quickened as she returned Beckett's kiss with ferocity, her hands moving up to bury themselves in his messy hair. She pressed her body tightly against his, feeling the heat and ever-increasing pulse of his interest pushing into her thigh. How could this feel so right, when it had once been so very wrong?

Will had conceded defeat to her, had allowed her to leave the marriage. _I am free to do what I want now_, she mused, _and strangely enough, the first thing I want to do—is Cutler bloody Beckett._

With ever-increasing lust building in her body, Elizabeth reached around Beckett and squeezed his derriere in her hand, proceeding to pull him against her using this part of his body. It was now that she heard him utter a sound of pleasure, a sort of guttural growl. She angled her body so that his growing interest was now in line with a place that very much wanted it.

Cutler's mind raced. His body was responding too quickly to her.

"Elizabeth," he muttered huskily. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Of course I do," she replied. "Dr. Stillwell and his wife won't be back until the evening and the baby was just put to his nap."

His breath hitched in his throat. _The path ahead is finally clear…_

"And so we are alone," he murmured.

"Quite," she replied, her hands moving to his shoulders. "And so it should be. I've been very naughty, digging up your family secrets while you lie here unknowing…. I even know about your sister's turtle—you remember, the one you killed."

"Oh, is that right?" Beckett responded, barely able to contain himself. _She will make short work of me_, he mused. _I must prolong this… moment as long as I am able._

"Yes, and I snuck a peek at your disrobed body several times," she confessed.

"Is that so?" he replied, quirking up an eyebrow. "And you've been especially naughty in presuming all that I've done these past several months is anything outside of your best interest."

"True," she said, looking thoughtful. "I even tattled on you to Will about the key," she confessed.

"I thought you might," he replied, making a stern, all-knowing face. "It sounds like a firm spanking is in order for you."

He quickly moved to the bed, his bulge quite prominent, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him. Hastily he sat down and pulled Elizabeth's arm toward the ground. She followed his lead and soon she was belly down atop his thighs.

"Scoot forward," he said. "So that I may properly redden your seat. You've been ever so bad."

With a moan of pleasure, she shifted forward, her bottom directly over his right thigh. Abruptly Beckett pulled her flowing housedress up over her body so that it rested on her upper back, exposing her bare backside.

"This is for all those naughty things you did behind my back," he said, his voice choked and throat suddenly very dry. With that, his hand slapped her bottom, causing her to make a little sound and raise up. When she lowered back down she raised her bottom higher. This had been the movement that had set Beckett off last time.

"Bad girl," he said, spanking her again. "Not trusting me and even _tattling_ on me. Very bad." Elizabeth wriggled with excitement, little moans escaping her lips as he continued. Soon her backside was mottled with his handprints and was very hot to the touch. The simple motion of raising her bottom after each stroke was getting Beckett very close to the edge of what he could handle. It was simply too much.

"I can't take this anymore," he suddenly announced, grabbing her around the waist and standing up. "I want you now."

He attempted to turn her around, but she faced away from him, bending over onto the bed.

"Oh, God, Elizabeth," he murmured. He moved towards her now, hiking up her skirts, ready to try this new angle with her. Her skin was warm and highly sensitive and his hands felt awkward and stiff as he fumbled with himself, entering her from this new direction. She cried out with pleasure as he groaned with utter disbelief at how perfect she felt.

"Elizabeth," Cutler growled, his body shaking with excitement. He stared at her face as she turned her head to look at him.

"Cutler," she responded, her voice sultry and soft.

It was enough to bring on his end. Beckett nearly collapsed on Elizabeth from sheer physical exhaustion, and she steered him towards the bed, feeling fulfilled and content.

* * *

Cutler and Elizabeth lie on the bed under the covers, skin touching skin, and basked in the warmth of their collective bodies. Cutler wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against him, glad to see no Dead Man's Chest key, a sign that she could never totally be his. That era was no more.

Elizabeth nuzzled into his chest, her face pressed against the light brown hair on his chest. The puff of warm air on his chest at each outtake of her breath hastened the shutting of his eyes.

"What will we do now?" Elizabeth questioned, rousing Beckett from his light sleep. He spoke into her hair, his eyes still half-closed.

"We can find a home here in Southampton, or—"

"I want to go back to the Caribbean," she interrupted. "High society is not my place."

"I thought that you might say something along those lines," he murmured, sighing lightly. "I am not surprised."

"See? I told you that we could not have a future," Elizabeth said, her voice breaking. She attempted to turn her head upwards to look at him. "You want to stay here and I—"

"I told you I would honour your wishes within reason," he interrupted. "Living elsewhere is perfectly within reason. If it is your desire to live in Port Royal, we shall do so, though I am a marked man there."

"You'll be like a pirate there!"

"_Like_ a pirate?" he commented. "I would argue that I _am_ as pirate as anyone—killing men, eating gruel and being readily arrested or shot at on sight."

"Alright, then—you, Cutler Beckett, are a pirate," she said with a laugh, moving away so that she could look at him. "Of course, we don't have to live in Port Royal—we could live on one of the other islands, like Tortuga or Bermuda—"

"Bloody hell," he cut in. "Are you actually serious?"

"I am," she replied. She sat up, holding the covers to her chest. "You could work as a privateer. Now that your brother-in-law is no longer the Admiral, maybe the view will change towards pirates. Perhaps you can work for the Royal Navy again."

"No Royal Navy," he said, shaking his head. "Tragedy seems to follow me there. We will think of something. Perhaps my sister could arrange transportation for us. The trade routes are always being traveled and we can board a merchant ship. We should get some air and see what we can discover about ship departures. I need to regain my strength."

"I would argue that you already regained it," she said with a smile. Her eyes flickered with mischief. "My bottom is still hot."

* * *

Cutler Beckett and Elizabeth Turner, with a sleeping baby in her arms, strode out of Dr. Stillwell's house in clean clothing, making their way for the harbour. When they came upon it, carpenters and handymen of all sorts were hammering away installing new boards into the destroyed dock, which had almost returned to normal in the week following its destruction by the _Flying Dutchman_. Most of the ships that had been moored there during the _Flying Dutchman's_ visit were gone. A small merchant ship floated at the end of the harbour and looked promising, and they walked along the harbour towards the vessel.

The gangplank was thankfully lowered and Cutler escorted Elizabeth up the angled board onto the deck of the ship. The deck was completely empty, save for an angry woman's voice speaking in a foreign tongue.

"It sounds eastern European to me—Turkish, perhaps," Beckett commented to Elizabeth. "I doubt they are headed for the Caribbean." He turned on his heel to leave. "Ah well."

"Wot in the bloody hell are you doin' on my ship?" a voice suddenly announced. Captain Jack Sparrow stepped out of the captain's quarters on the ship with Ayla behind him, her face red and angry. On his left cheek was the perfect palm print. He had been slapped by yet another prostitute, Ayla this time.

"Weren't you supposed to regain the _Black Pearl_ from Captain Barbossa?" Beckett asked, looking vaguely amused.

"He's long gone, an' as I fell for your ruse an' left th' _Dutchman_, I realized I had no crew to commandeer any respectable ship."

"Do you not know how to recruit them?" Beckett questioned.

"I can't bloody recruit a dead man!" Jack grumbled. "All th' possibilities were dead on th' dock."

"Constantinople!" Ayla raged, swinging her arm towards Jack. "Ayla Constantinople!"

Jack deftly avoided her next blow, and smoothly moved to the side of Elizabeth, eyeing her infant warily.

"I stupidly told her I'd get her back to Con—" He cut himself off abruptly, lowering his voice. "I can't say it or she'll hit me again, you know the place—an' I can't very well captain a ship wiv a crew of three—she, Mr. Gibbs, an' myself. Need at least five or six. Not only that, but all th' ships left. Evidently a sightin' of th' _Flying Dutchman_ is enough to keep ships at bay. This is th' first ship in nigh a week."

"We'll help!" Elizabeth blurted. "But only if you will be returning to the Caribbean."

"It is along my heading," he replied, blinking quickly and impatiently. "But I don't want Beckett here." He looked at Cutler Beckett and frowned. "You should be dead, mate."

"He is with me," Elizabeth said with a smile. "So you will not kill him."

"In fact," Beckett added, stepping forward regally, "we request that you marry us."

Jack blinked several times with confusion. Elizabeth glanced over at Cutler, amazed at his boldness. She had not even said yes to Beckett.

"I will marry her but not you," Jack replied, shaking his head animatedly. He looked more and more aghast. "Didn' know you felt that way about me," he said, shifting nervously. "Explains a lot, actually. In any case, she can stay but you will not."

"I meant, perform the ceremony!" Beckett responded, irritated. "You are a captain of a ship, are you not? If you do marry us as well as not killing me in the meantime and keeping your word that you will make berth in the Caribbean, I will act as a crewmember."

"You don't know one thing about bein' a crewmember," Jack said.

"You only have three men," Cutler retorted with a smile. "Pardon me, two men and a Turkish whore."

Ayla understood the implications of his insult and strode over to him quickly. Before he could even shield his face, she slapped Beckett hard across the mouth.

"Not what she seems, eh?" Jack chuckled. Beckett began rubbing his cheek as Ayla stormed away, clearly aggravated.

"Pardon me, Beckett, but I never responded to your request," Elizabeth said with irritation in her eyes. "I think _she_ realized you deserved that slap for assuming things."

"Yes you did reply—only, it wasn't a verbal response," was his cunning retort. Jack understood the implications several seconds later and shook his head to remove the image formed there.

Elizabeth could only gawk at Cutler. _This is entirely different than my relationship with James Norrington or Will._ _Beckett certainly has more confidence and wittier replies than they did. How can he expect me to marry him with no engagement?_

"Elizabeth," Cutler said with a long outtake of breath. "You have made countless life-and-death decisions these past couple of years. You have made the decision to spare or save my life again and again. How can you not know what you want?"

"That reminds me," Jack blurted. "I think I've got my compass around here somewhere." With that, he began fiddling with his belt in search of the unique item.

"I don't need your compass, Jack," Elizabeth asserted. She turned to Beckett. "Are you telling the truth about the future? About the Caribbean? Also, every ten years I must return to that island—"

"I think I can spare one day every ten years for a family reunion," he replied confidently, clasping his hands behind his back. "I have already informed you of my status on your first qualms."

"Fine—then I shall marry you," Elizabeth said matter-of-factly.

"Wot?!" Jack bellowed. "Lizzie, that's just not—"

"As you just said, _he's_ not what he seems. He's…" She looked at Beckett, remembering his self-assessment. "…complex."

* * *

"You may kiss th' bride," Jack said with a distasteful glance, "while I'm not looking."

It was then that Cutler Beckett and Elizabeth Turner kissed in front of their pirate companions. They wrapped their arms around each other, taking their time with the kiss more so than when she and Will had been married on the _Black Pearl_ during the battle with the _Flying Dutchman_. Stirrings of a physical nature were occurring within her and it took all her will power not to grope her new husband in full view of Mr. Gibbs, her son and Jack Sparrow. The prostitute would probably understand.

Mr. Gibbs smiled at the impromptu wedding, holding baby William, as Ayla crossed her arms and pouted near the stern of the ship.

"All han's on deck!" Jack suddenly yelled from his place behind the wheel. He'd run to the upper deck while the lovers kissed on deck, and was obviously very impatient.

"No time for consummation an' all that!" he announced with a wild grin, gesticulating triumphantly. "We've got to set sail!"

* * *

The merchant ship passed swiftly through the English Channel, aided by some northeasterly winds. In this time Beckett had to become a fast expert on untying mooring lines, unfurling sails and adjusting the booms to catch the wind in the sails. He was assisted by Joshamee Gibbs, who lent his own expertise into teaching him what he had long forgotten. Thankfully Sparrow was adept at changing the tack accordingly and in a relatively short amount of time, they were in the Bay of Biscay.

Jack made the mistake of fetching his sizable stock of rum he'd created in the brig, leaving the deck unattended. At noticing the absence of the captain, Elizabeth promptly handed her baby off to Mr. Gibbs and she and Beckett sprinted for the captain's cabin.

"Didn't know I'd be takin' on the job as a baby-minder," Gibbs groaned to himself, shaking his head.

* * *

"Where did they go?" Jack asked, scratching his head as he handed a bottle of rum to his First Mate. "Constantinople is still quite far away an' I didn' tell them they could rest!"

"I don't think they be restin', Cap'n," Gibbs replied, placing the bottle on the ground so that he could keep a hold on the infant in his arms.

"I did not tell them they could consummate that bloody marriage," Jack raged. "Where are they?"

Gibbs said nothing but indicated with a nod of his head the captain's cabin.

"I wouldn't go botherin' 'em unless yer ready to feast yer eyes on anything," Gibbs warned.

"I'll risk it to see _Mrs_. Beckett," Jack replied with a grin. With that he moved towards the cabin with renewed purpose and kicked open the door.

* * *

"Bloody hell!" Beckett and Elizabeth yelled in unison as the door was slammed open. The chairs and chest they had pushed up against the door of the cabin to provide them protection had failed them miserably and they quickly stood up from their suggestive positioning. The pair stood before Captain Jack Sparrow in nothing but their bare skin, Elizabeth promptly covering what she could of herself.

Cutler Beckett stepped in front of his bride, further blocking a view of her body.

"Pardon me, but we were not finished. Must you interrupt us?" he asked the pirate captain, unashamed of his nudity. It was clear that he was in the middle of something. His unabashed display of his body embarrassed the nigh un-embarrassable Jack Sparrow.

"Just—be… clean about it," Sparrow muttered as he began to retreat, Beckett turning towards his bride. The pirate captain couldn't help but notice a hue of red to the former lord's backside as Beckett turned. He shut the door, swallowing hard. A pirate such as he wouldn't be game for… whatever that was about. Right? Now that Elizabeth was seemingly off-limits, there was Ayla for any experiments he might want to try. Jack grabbed a bottle of rum and guzzled it at he brought the infant boy into his line of sight. There. No dirty thoughts for now.

* * *

"We are not done," Elizabeth announced to the man in the room with her. "For your assuming my automatic subservience to your whim of Jack marrying us, you must again assume the position."

"I agree," he admitted, feeling heat in his face. "We certainly aren't done."

Beckett proceeded to bend over and received several hard smacks on the bottom from Elizabeth, her open palm connecting with his skin. As she did this, she leaned over his back with her body, her breasts skimming his back. He felt completely helpless at this moment and God help him, he was enjoying it.

"I've learned my lesson," he said in a contrite monotone, his arousal increasing with every sharp sting. "I will not assume your intentions again."

"And the key?" she asked, raising her voice, her thigh lightly brushing the back of his thigh and knee. Another stinging slap to his behind.

"Very wrong of me to take from you," he mumbled. "I think I deserve a harder stroke, actually."

Immediately after her hand slapped the hot flesh, Beckett stood up from his position on the bed and pushed Elizabeth back onto the bed. She allowed for him to then straddle her, his face in line with her own, her legs bent at the knees and held skyward as his body's positioning over her provided her some modesty.

"We are now even, my dear," he murmured silkily, his hands moving down her back, stroking her skin there with surprising tenderness. "Now it is time for me to claim my wife."

He moved into her easily and she enveloped him, embracing him with arms and legs as they consummated their marriage. Jack, Mr. Gibbs, and the Turkish prostitute were all but forgotten as they grunted and moaned their contentment in the relative privacy of the captain's cabin.

"You are mine, Elizabeth Beckett," Cutler grunted, his thrusts becoming closer and closer together. Soon it would be over and Jack would be expecting them to return to the deck.

"And you are mine, Cutler Beckett," Elizabeth responded. "Completely," she added, reaching out an arm and groping him. His backside was still warm.

"Let us scheme to tie up Sparrow and make this cabin our own," Beckett offered. "I wish to reclaim you again and again on our way to the Caribbean."

"In a little while," she said. "For now, I want you to kiss me."

"Of course," he replied, taking in the sight of his Elizabeth before him in the dim light of the captain's cabin as he bent his head to kiss her. The world had become infinitely less complicated: no key, no heart, no Dead Man's chest. It was now he and Elizabeth and her small infant, their entire lives spread out before them.

* * *

**A/N: So one last naughty chapter! Please review and tell me what you thought about this trilogy! (or this chapter, if you'd like to do less sweeping of a review). I cannot see who is reading and cannot ask you personally, so this is the only way I can know what you think of it!**


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